Survivors
by Dyce
Summary: ..Complete.. After the war is over, lives must be rebuilt. Hermione sets out to help someone who nobody else will, and winds up helping herself as well. HGSS
1. Chapter 1

**Survivors**

Author's Note: Faith Accompli gets the blame... ahem, I mean, the _credit_ for inspiring this idea. She pushed the pairing at me purely for her own amusement. There are a few nods to other fics about the two in later chapters, and I'll try to remember to point out where. Needless to say, none of the characters - except the Apothecary - belong to me, and I seek no financial rewards for their use. Just feedback. 

Chapter One  
It had been nearly three months since the war's final conclusion, and Voldemort's ultimate defeat. People were starting to get used to the idea of surviving again, making long-term plans - the birth rate was up, as always after a war. 

And Hermione had just realized that nobody had seen Severus Snape - or, as far as she could tell, thought about him - since his release from St Mungo's. Which had been two full months ago. 

After what Voldemort had done to him... well, Voldemort, at least, had obviously believed that he'd been a traitor. A hearing had been held while he was in a coma, under constant supervision at St Mungo's. With Ron... gone... and Harry in the hospital himself, Hermione had provided most of the evidence, including quite a few bits she knew the boys wouldn't have wanted included, like Snape's dash to save them from a werewolf and a convicted murderer in their third year, and Professor Dumbledore's repeated references, to Harry, about Snape's skill in Occlumency and Legilimency. The court had ruled that, on the balance of all the evidence, Professor Dumbledore's death could be ruled a heroic sacrifice, rather than a murder. By the time he'd woken up and his body had finally started to heal, Snape had been cleared. He hadn't been especially pleased, about either the tacit approval or the waking up. As soon as it had been permitted, he'd left St Mungo's and disappeared. 

Around then, Hermione had finally stopped holding it together and spent over a month crying. Ron was gone, and some days it had seemed that even Voldemort's defeat hadn't been worth it. 

When she'd finally started coming out of it, she'd started looking for 'her' people, trying to get them sorted out again. Harry was... well, he was feeling kind of lost and scared, right now, but Ginny was with him, and they would be okay. He was adjusting pretty well to the magical arm replacing the one he'd lost, that was good. The rest of the Weasley family were doing okay. Her parents, thankfully, had missed most of it, safe in the Muggle world. Luna was okay. Neville was okay. The teachers - except poor Professor Flitwick, whose loss had hurt almost as much as Ron's - were okay. 

And nobody knew where Professor Snape was. Nobody cared, either. 

She'd tried the school - no sign. The house-elves had told her that he'd taken away all his things and his books; they'd moved everything to the edge of the grounds, for him, and then he'd gone away. Where, they didn't know. But Winky had gone with him, they'd told her, to her surprise. She'd announced that he needed looking after, and certainly he'd looked very ill. The other house-elves seemed to think it was good that Winky had something constructive to do, and hadn't given it further thought. 

Madame Pomfrey had, in the end, been the one to help. She had access to all the teacher's records, as well as the students, in case for some reason they should be needed over the holidays. She'd been reluctant to part with the information, but had eventually given in to Hermione's pleading and obvious concern, and given her Snape's summer address. 

She apparated into what turned out to be the backyard of an abandoned house. Not just abandoned, but actively falling into ruin, actually. She picked her way through the jungly garden, wondering if she'd have far to walk... no. Right in front of her, leaning drunkenly, was a street sign. Spinner's End, it read. This was the right street... and, she realized, looking up along it, at least half the houses were as dilapidated as the one she'd just passed. Her eyes were drawn along and up, seeing the chimneys of a mill in the distance. Even now, in the middle of the day, no smoke issued from them. Ah. A mill-town, probably one of the many in which the mills had closed and the town, starved of income, had begun to die. There wasn't much left of this one, now, although it had probably been a lively enough place twenty or thirty years ago. 

And this was where Snape lived. He never gave the angst a rest, did he? 

She headed up the street, to the last house. Yes, there was the overgrown stone dragon in the front yard, and the house, though it didn't look especially reputable, was at least not falling down. It was small and shabby, though, despite the little touches that she thought were indications of Winky's presence... clean windows, a carefully swept front step, that sort of thing. She couldn't imagine Snape ever bothering to sweep. 

She headed up to the front door, tapping rather cautiously. "Hello?" she called, in case Winky had been told not to open the door to Muggles. "It's Hermione Granger..." 

A moment later, the door popped open, and she looked down to see Winky, her clothes shed, now dressed in a clean pink pillowcase. The small elf gave Hermione a deeply suspicious look. "What is you wanting?" she demanded. "Not needing clothes here." 

"I didn't bring any clothes. Anyway, you don't need them. I was just..." Suddenly, she felt a little embarrassed. She'd started looking for Snape without ever really thinking about it. She'd just been finding everyone, putting them back into her badly shaken-up worldview, and when she hadn't been able to find him she'd looked harder, and... he hadn't been there. He'd just gone. And it was bad enough that people had died, and she had to make a new worldview without them. She wasn't going to have people disappearing, as well. "I was worried," she admitted, after a moment. "He left the hospital, and I couldn't find anyone who'd seen him since." 

Winky relaxed a little, apparently relieved that the Mad Hat-Hiding Girl wasn't going to make a fuss about house-elf issues. "Master Snape is not well," she confided, giving Hermione a worried look. "The wounds the Dark Lord inflicted heal slowly.Winky worries about him." 

Hermione nodded. "I'm glad you've been here to take care of him," she said, looking past Winky into the small, worn-looking sitting room. "He might have died here, for all the notice anyone took of him being gone." 

Winky nodded, looking suddenly cross. "Nobody comes to visit Master Snape," she agreed. "Miss Granger is the first visitor he is having since we come here. No letters, and he not want the paper. He even tells Winky to go away, but she won't. Winky may be... free..." she shuddered at the word, "but she knows when someone is needing very badly to be looked after." 

Hermione nodded. "He was very brave," she said softly. "He was the only one who dared to spy so closely on the Dark Lord." He'd done a lot of things that weren't at all admirable, but, to Hermione, his willingness to risk his life for a resentful and ungrateful wizarding world made up for a lot of it. 

Winky nodded, still scowling. "And he is unappreciated," she said crossly. "He think he is unwanted. Winky thinks he would like to lie down and misery himself to death, but Winky doesn't let him." 

"Good for you, Winky." Hermione smiled. "May I come in? I'd like to check on him, see how he's doing... I'm not a proper mediwitch, but I've had some training. Maybe I can help." 

"If Miss Granger can help, Miss Granger is welcome," Winky said, opening the door wide. "Master Snape will shout, he always gets cross when he is helped, but Miss Granger must ignore that." 

"I have for years," Hermione assured her, stepping into the almost cell-like sitting room. Her bibliophilac soul had a little private Moment over all the books. "Where is he?" 

"Master Snape has not left his bed today," Winky said, a little worriedly. "He does that more often than before. He eats, when Winky brings food, but not much. Winky thinks..." her lip trembled. "Winky thinks Master Snape does not want to get well." 

Hermione's lips tightened. "Oh, he doesn't, does he?" she said rather grimly. "Take me to his room, then. And Winky... don't warn him." She grinned suddenly. "A sudden irritation may put some fire back in him." 

Winky nodded. "One good thing about being free," she admitted, opening a door hidden behind one of the bookcases and leading Hermione up a flight of narrow steps, "is that Winky can do what is good for Master, not just what she is told." 

True to her word, Winky didn't warn Snape... just opened the bedroom door and trotted inside, making tutting noises and picking books up off the floor. At least one of them looked to have been thrown. Not a good sign... if he was far gone enough to actually risk injuring a book... 

Then she stepped into the room and got a good look at him, and only the fact that the war had left her almost entirely immune to flinching kept her from doing it now. 

Snape was lying back against his pillows, his eye closed. The scars across his face had hardly faded since the last time she'd see him, the one crossing his now-empty left eye-socket still purple and angry-looking. He'd lost more weight, she noted, and he hadn't had it to lose. As tall as he was, she and Luna had been able to carry him out of Voldemort's lair. She could probably have done it alone now. The loose nightshirt he was wearing didn't hide the scars around his neck, either, and as her eyes slid downward, she saw that the sleeves of the nightshirt had ridden up, revealing the burns on his arms as well as the mutilated hands... only seven fingers left, all told. Both thumbs still there, though, Voldemort had been saving them for later... 

She moved again, and the unfamiliar step must have woken him, if he'd been sleeping, or caught his ear if he hadn't. His remaining eye opened, his maimed right hand fumbling for his wand on the bedside table, and he stared at her for a long moment, his expression unfathomable. Then the familiar contemptuous expression spread over his face, and he turned his head slightly, looking away from her. "Go away." 

"After I spent a week trying to find you? I don't think so." Hermione walked over to the bed, making herself look him over with cool detachment. "You look like shit," she told him bluntly. 

He blinked, turning to look at her in surprise. He'd never heard her swear before... few people had, actually. And certainly not at him. "Charming. Did you spend all week coming up with that pithy little comment? If so, it falls short of your usual over-preparation." 

"No, that was an ad libbed insult. I could spend more time on the next one if you like." Hermione fished out her wand. "Now hold still." 

"I most certainly will not!" He sat up, swaying a little. "Miss Granger, take yourself and your wand and your impudent prying and get out of my house this instant!" 

"No." She smiled sweetly at him. "What are you going to do, Professor? Give me detention? Take away house points? Those don't work anymore." 

His eye narrowed. "What do you want?" 

"To know my impassioned pleas on your behalf to the Wizengamot weren't wasted," she said crisply. "I had to talk very fast to keep you out of Azkaban, Severus Snape, and I have no intention of letting you go into a decline anyway." 

His eye narrowed. "So I have you to thank for my... release," he almost snarled. "Get out, Miss Granger. I do not want your interference, I do not want your help, and I do not want your pity." 

"The first you are in no position to prevent," she said calmly, meeting his gaze. "The second you will get whether you want it or not. The third I have never offered, and I have no intention of starting now." She knelt beside the bed, giving him back the advantage of height, and waved her wand over him, thinking a simple diagnostic spell. "My gratitude, yes, but never my pity." 

He hissed out an angry breath, but she'd been right. He was too weak to counter her spell, the wand he'd groped for lying all but useless in his hand. He was depleted almost to the point of being powerless, and that realization shocked her. She'd never especially liked him, but he'd always seemed so powerful, and so strong; to see him as being - well, mortal - came as a shock. She sat back on her heels, looking at his face again. Really looking, the way she never had at school. Pain and misery had etched deep lines in his face, lines that had deepened over the last few months, but which had been there all along. He was still sallow, the mark of constant stress and probably malnutrition as well. In short, he looked like what he was... a man of forty or so who could have passed as ten years older, exhausted and worn down by years of strain until the final blow had made him collapse, too weak even to drive her away. 

"Winky?" she said quietly. "Is there another bedroom?" 

"Yes," Winky said, as Snape gave them both a venomous glare. "Why, Miss Granger?" 

"Make it up, please. I'll be staying for a while," Hermione said, her voice oddly calm. She didn't feel calm. She didn't know how she felt. Confused, angry, guilty, unhappy, determined... they were all parts of a turbulent whole. 

"You will not," Snape hissed. 

"I will." 

He sneered. "You make a particularly unconvincing and unattractive ministering angel, Miss Granger," he spat. "I suggest you give it up before you make more of a fool of yourself." She stood up. "No," she said quietly. "I don't really care what you think of me, Professor. But you are owed something. If nobody else will acknowledge the debt, then it's up to me." 

Something in her tone silenced him, the one black eye gazing up with her that unreadable expression. She nodded, and turned, leaving the room without another word. 

The silencing didn't last. 

Over the next few days, Hermione was subjected to the full force and fury of Severus Snape's capacity for rage and viciousness. It was impressive, wide-ranging, and rarely got tired. He insulted her intelligence, her perceptiveness, her power, her training, her technique, her attitude, and her looks. It hurt, but she tried not to let that show, and she never let herself get angry back. When she responded, she did so calmly and honestly. When she didn't, she kept her face blank and ignored him entirely. 

It puzzled him that she could do it, she knew. And she wouldn't have been able to, she suspected, if she wasn't muggleborn. 

When she'd been very small, her father's mother had died after being ill for a long time. She remembered very clearly, when she was about six, tearfully asking Daddy why Granny was so cross sometimes. He'd explained that when people were in pain - especially if they had been for a long time - it wore down their self-control, so that they couldn't help lashing out. She hadn't really understood that, at the time, but it helped now... understanding why he was lashing out so desperately - why he always had - meant she could distance herself from it at least a little. Wizards rarely spent much time around the chronically ill... anyone so severely sick or injured that they couldn't be healed quickly were usually in a hospital, and then not for nearly as long as a muggle might be. 

So she tolerated his outbursts, increasingly vitriolic though they were. And after nine days, a wonder... instead of shouting or snarling at her when she entered his room with a tray, he looked up at her and asked a question. "Gratitude for what?" 

She blinked. "What do you mean, gratitude for what?" she asked, pulling a chair over to the bed and sitting down. She dipped a clean cloth into the bowl on the tray... a distillation of murtlap essence, centaury, and a few other things. Winky had done her best, but she didn't really know much about healing, and mostly all she'd been able to do was keep Snape, his scars, and his surroundings clean. It improved his appearance, she'd noted with grim amusement. 

He didn't actually try to pull his hand away as she took it, pushing his sleeve up and smoothing the solution onto the scars on his arm. "You said, when you arrived, that I had your gratitude, but not your pity. Gratitude for what?" 

"For a lot of things," she said, working her way meticulously down the thin arm. "Would you like a list?" He didn't flinch when she touched him anymore. She thought that was progress." 

"A single example will suffice. Not that I expect you to be able to limit yourself to one," he added, his lips tightening as she worked her way down to the hand, anointing the stumps where his first and smallest fingers had been. 

"A single example." She started on the other arm. "Very well. In my third year, you confronted a werewolf and a convicted murderer - who you knew wanted to kill you personally - armed only with your wand and a longstanding grudge, to protect three students who you didn't even like." 

"A poor example. I would have confronted Black and Lupin whether or not you had been stupid enough to involve yourselves." He glared at her, but didn't pull away when she shifted her chair towards the head of the bed, opening the loose neck of his nightshirt a little to work on the thicker scars around his neck. 

"Confront, yes. Run from Lupin's office to the Shrieking Shack in less than nine minutes, no." He blinked, and she smiled the smallest bit. "I used a Pensieve and a stopwatch." 

He raised an eyebrow, startled. "Why? And what did that prove?" 

"You both told us when you'd left, you know. Professor Lupin saw Ron being pulled into the tunnel under the Willow, when he was in his office. You saw him entering the tunnel from the same place. It was easy to go back into the memory and time you both." He was actually interested, and she kept talking as she dabbed the scars on his face gently. He wouldn't usually let her near them. "I tried it myself, walking and running... at a leisurely pace, but without stopping, it takes about eighteen minutes. Hurrying, maybe fourteen. Running for as much of it as I could, I managed to stagger wheezing into the shack at just under eleven. Professor Lupin made it in twelve, without wheezing, but he's in surprisingly good shape." She lowered the cloth, and met his remaining eye gravely. "You made it in less than nine. You must have sprinted most of the way." 

"You underestimate my hatred for Black, Miss Granger," he said, but his voice was quieter now. 

"Oh, no. If the only thing on your mind had been Sirius Black, you'd have collared Fudge, rounded up a few Dementors, headed to the Shrieking Shack by broom, and sat back to wait for the glory to roll in. It only would have taken a few minutes more." She shook her head. "And he'd been there for weeks. There was no hurry to capture him, or even Professor Lupin. The only time sensitive component was three very, very stupid children who were blithely walking into the hands of someone you had every reason to believe was a cruel and remorseless killer." He stirred restlessly, scowling, but didn't speak, so she continued. "And you grabbed your wand and you ran for that tree, probably cursing us with every breath for being such thundering morons. You would, I'm absolutely sure, have joyfully expelled all of us for that particular stunt, if you'd been allowed to." She shrugged, meeting his eye again. "But you wouldn't have let us die." 

A muscle rippled in his clenched jaw, visible in his too-thin face. "Get out," he growled, turning his face to the wall. 

She nodded. She'd expected that... he clung to his protective armour of Loathesome Greasy Gitness, and to have it perforated would infuriate him. She thought the sudden anger meant that she'd scored a definite hit. "I'll leave the bowl. Have Winky take care of the rest of the scarring," she told him calmly. "If she doesn't...and she will tell me... I'll come back up here and hex that nightshirt off and do it myself. I won't let you martyr yourself." 

A trail of sulfurous curses followed her out of the room. 

The night after, Hermione was woken by a terrified scream. Neville, her foggy mind prompted, as she scrambled out of bed, still mostly asleep. Harry, Ginny, Bill... they all had nightmares... 

By the time she reached the door, she was awake enough to remember where she was, and who the nightmare must belong to. She sped up, racing down the short, narrow hall to his bedroom door. It was standing open and Winky was already there, but her frantic pleas weren't waking him, and her tone probably wasn't helping. 

"Be quiet, Winky!" she whispered, pushing past the frightened elf to bend over the bed. His eye was open wide, but unseeing, and he was thrashing against the confining bedcovers, his hands moving in what she recognized as spell gestures. The screams had become terrified moans and whimpers, painful to hear. 

She really wished it wasn't all so familiar. 

"Professor..." No, that wouldn't work now, he was too far gone. "Severus," she said gently, keeping her voice gentle and soothing. "Severus, look at me. It's all right. It's only a dream." She rested her hands on his shoulder and cheek, touching only very gently. "Shhhh... shhhh, it's all right, Severus. It's not real. Look at me, Severus, it's all right. You're safe now, shhh..." 

She kept repeating it, repeating his name, and slowly he relaxed, the dream losing its hold, until he blinked once, and looked at her. "W-what..." He took a shuddering breath. "Miss Granger-" 

"Hermione," she corrected, withdrawing her hands slowly. "Under the circumstances... Hermione." She saw him tense, and realized how shamed he must feel by her presence. "It's all right," she said again, smiling a little wistfully. "Really. After... everything... none of us sleep through the night, every night, anymore. You can wake me, when it's my turn." 

He nodded slowly, relaxing again. "I suppose it can't be uncommon, these days," he said grimly. "I... will do so, Miss Granger." He made a face as if tasting something particularly bitter. "Thank you," he ground out, clearly not grateful at all. 

"Any time," she said softly, rising to go. "Let Winky bring you some tea or something. Something comfortingly normal. I find it helps." He nodded, looking suddenly rather surprised, and she slipped away, yawning. It wasn't until she got back to her own room that she looked down at herself, and smiled rather wryly. 

Either this had been a very good night to wear a dainty ivory satin nightgown, or a very bad one. There was no telling what interpretation he'd put on her having such a thing, or wearing it, or wearing it in his house. Still, whether it raised or lowered his opinion of her, it had definitely surprised him out of some of his lingering panic. That was something. 

Tea! 

She burst into his bedroom, she humiliated him by seeing him a moment of even greater weakness, she was infuriatingly calm about it all, she paraded around in a skimpy Muggle nightgown for god only knew what bizarre purpose... and then the girl had the utter gall to recommend TEA! 

Severus realized he was actually grinding his teeth. He forced himself to stop - he didn't need the headache it always brought - and sat up, piling up his pillows until he could lean back against them properly supported. Winky reappeared with the suggested tea - biscuits, too, he noted with an internal sigh. She simply couldn't be broken of the habit. "That will do," he told her, and she gave him a worried look, but nodded and disappeared. 

Winky had almost certainly been the only thing keeping him alive after he returned to this house. He wasn't particularly grateful. 

A small, detached part of his mind was able to identify what he was experiencing as severe clinical depression. Post-traumatic stress disorder almost certainly played its part. Nerves strained to breaking point for years had finally snapped. The analytical part of his mind could understand why he didn't particularly want to live anymore. It couldn't change it, though. 

Venting some of his helpless anger and misery at the Granger girl had helped, a little. It would have helped more if she'd responded better, but she wasn't always able to hide her hurt, and that was something. Mostly, though, his words seemed to simply roll off her, which was very annoying. 

He sipped his tea, frowning. Why was she here, anyway? She'd never really explained, beyond her statement on that first day... that he was owed something. By who? And why did she seem to think that she was required to pay the debt off? Her presence was a mystery, and therefore an irritant. 

She was a Gryffindor. Gryffindors were sentimentalists, and had romantic notions of honour. It was possible she thought that Potter owed him something, and was trying to repay the debt. Or the school, perhaps... or even the entire wizarding world. Yes, that would fit... he'd been a 'hero' (what a nauseatingly pitiful thought, he didn't know why it seemed so funny), and he was owed recognition and praise. He hadn't gotten it. So Hermione Granger, with her untidy hair and persistence and her sudden, strange maturity, had come to deliver it in person. To care for him in his weakness, to bear his temper and his insults, to offer him the care and respect he had earned and been denied. 

It wasn't funny, now that he thought about it. 

He would get up tomorrow. He would get up, he would get stronger, and he would throw the pushy, interfering little bitch out of his house. Bodily. 

"Why does Hermione do this?" Winky asked, the next day. "Come here, and serve Master Snape like a house-elf?" 

Hermione blinked. That was how it would look, she supposed, to a house-elf. "It's... complicated," she said, after a long pause. 

They were polishing things. Winky had been a little shocked when Hermione had come downstairs to insist on helping, but had permitted it when Hermione had explained that she just needed to do something. Restlessness she seemed to understand. And she was finally using Hermione's given name. 

"Complicated." She rubbed industriously at a brass candlestick. "Usually is meaning that someone doesn't know, or doesn't want to say. Winky will not ask, if it is the second, but if it is the first, Hermione should think about it." 

Hermione nodded. "I suppose Hermione should," she agreed, rubbing a soft cloth gently over a silver picture-frame. The moving wizard picture within showed a thin, plain-faced woman holding a distinctly beaky, dark-haired toddler. Severus - after last night, they were firmly on first-name terms in her head - had been a surprisingly sweet child, although he had a stubborn look on his little face even then. "I don't want to lose him," she said softly, after a long pause. "Not that we've ever been friends... half the time we were allies, we didn't even know it. But he's... familiar, if you know what I mean. He's a part of my world, even if it's not a part I'm especially fond of." 

Winky nodded. "The world is changed very, very much," she said seriously. "Especially this year. Many good things gone, many things changed forever. Winky is glad to have something familiar. Someone who needs taking care of." 

Hermione nodded, her throat tightening. "A few months ago, I... lost someone I loved very much," she said quietly. "The only person I've ever been in love with. And there were other friends, who died too. And more who got hurt, and lost parts of themselves." Her voice cracked, and she looked down at the picture, her eyes filling with tears. "It's selfish, I suppose, but I won't let him just... disappear. It's bad enough that people go away when they die, but to die to the world when they're still alive..." 

Winky reached over to rest a small hand on Hermione's arm. "Winky knows how it feels, losing people," she said very softly. "Winky is glad that Hermione is stopping Master Snape from losing himself." 

Hermione shook her head. "I'd like to, Winky, she said quietly. "But I don't think I can. I want to help, but..." She huffed out a frustrated breath. "People are so difficult to fix," she said ruefully. "If he was a... a clock, or a potion, I could open him up or distil him down to his components, and find out was was wrong and fix him. But I can't. All I can do is... be here. Whether it helps or not. At least he knows he's not forgotten." 

" Hermione is helping," Winky said seriously, and then suddenly she grinned. "She gives Master Snape something to think about, and someone to yell at. He is getting up out of his bed again, now, and he is throwing a teacup this morning. Making Hermione go away is good reason for getting better." 

Hermione blinked, and then she laughed ruefully. "Well, if it works out that way, I guess that counts as helping." She looked at the baby Severus again, and put the picture down, reaching for a handful of thin silver spoons. 

Feedback, naturally, is always appreciated. And it makes me write faster,it really does! 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Hermione had sent a brief, rather terse note via owl to Molly Weasley, giving the address and explaining that she needed some time to take care of a few things. Molly would probably assume she needed more time to get over losing Ron - which she did, really - and would let people know she was all right while discouraging them from going to see her. 

Well, that had been the plan, anyway. Two weeks exactly after her arrival, Hermione went down to answer a knock at the door, to find Harry and Neville on the doorstep. 

Great. Juuuuust great. Two of the people who Severus loathed most in the world. He was getting agitated enough with just her around, and it wasn't good for him. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, slipping out of the door. She glanced over her shoulder at Winky, who was hovering in the small sitting room. "I'm going outside for a bit," she said firmly. "Don't let him sneak down and lock the doors on me... I've got my wand, and I WILL break one down if I have to." Winky nodded, looking rather amused, and Hermione closed the door behind her, hustling the guys around to the side of the house with only a couple of small windows, where Severus was least likely to see them. "Again. What are you doing here? And why are you looking at me like that?" 

"Because you have a black eye?" Neville said in a small voice. 

She blinked, and lifted her hand to her left eye. So she did. Severus had had another nightmare last night, and while she tried to wake him had managed to do what he was still, in a weird way, too much of a gentleman to do when he was awake - he'd punched her in the face. She'd accelerated the healing - it should be gone again by morning - but the sight of the bruise had kept him quiet enough that she'd decided not to heal it immediately. "Oh. Yeah. That doesn't explain why you're here." 

"We were worried about you." Harry lifted a hand automatically to touch her bruised cheek... but it was the artificial hand, a pale, metallic gold, and when he saw it he lowered it again, scowling. "What on earth are you doing here? And who is the 'he' who might lock you out? And how did you get the black eye?" 

"I'm here because someone has to be," Hermione said rather grimly. This wasn't going to go well, and there wasn't any point in trying to soften it. "This is Professor Snape's house, Harry. I've been here for a couple of weeks now-" She'd intended to go on and explain, but she didn't get the chance. 

"It's WHOSE house?" Harry demanded, and then, to his obvious surprise, he was being talked over by Neville. 

"Did he hit you?" Neville demanded, an uncharacteristic scowl on his good-natured face. "He did. I'm gonna-" 

"He didn't mean to, Neville," Hermione said firmly, grabbing his wand-hand before he could take off. She saw his eyebrows go up, and realized how that sounded. "He really didn't. Any more than you meant to nearly kick me through a window that time." She shrugged, giving him a rueful half-smile. "None of us sleep that soundly, these days. I got him woken up and calmed down, but not before he managed to get a lucky punch in. God only knows who he thought I was." 

Neville relaxed a bit, and nodded. All of them had, at one time or another during the war, been either hitter or hittee during a waking-from-nightmare. As much as he disliked Severus, she was pretty sure he wouldn't hold a grudge over the eye. Harry, on the other hand, was still scowling. "That doesn't explain what you're doing here in the first place," he said, rather coldly. "Why are you here, Hermione?" 

Why was she here. Severus wanted to know, but wouldn't ask. Winky had asked, but had only gotten a partial answer at best. And Hermione herself wasn't always sure. "Because someone has to be," she repeated, shrugging. "He's too weak to take care of himself, and Winky - she followed him here when he left Hogwarts, because he looked lousy - can only do so much, especially when he keeps trying to throw her out. What should I do, Harry, leave him to rot away in miserable solitude?" 

"Why not? It's only what he deserves," Harry said grimly. Spy or not, martyr or not, he would never forgive Snape for killing Dumbledore. He'd been furious when he'd discovered that she'd been the one to get him off, and only the fact that she'd been a sobbing mess when he'd found out had kept him from yelling at her about it. "The trial was bad enough, Hermione, but this..." 

"Harry, spare me," Hermione said flatly. "We all know you hate him. You've hated him since first year. It has nothing to do with what he's done or hasn't done, and you know it." He looked startled, and she scowled. "He was in the process of being slowly tortured to death when we got there, Harry, remember? He lost an eye, three of his fingers, several toes, and his feet had been flayed. He has scars all over him, he's suffered permanent damage to his lungs and one of his kidneys, he was in a coma for weeks... He's been punished enough, Harry, even for you." 

"But-" 

"No buts!" Hermione glared at him. "I know you don't like him. I know Neville's terrified of him. I know that Ron never liked him either." Her voice cracked over Ron's name, but she carried on. "And I don't care. He went through more than any of us did, Harry, even you, and instead of being thanked on bended fucking knee for his sacrifices, nobody even cared enough to check whether he was alive or dead after he disappeared from Saint Mungo's. Well, I am not a stupid, selfish, grudgebearing ingrate and I am NOT going to let him lie up there and slowly starve himself to death because he doesn't care if he lives or dies anymore." 

"Fine. If that's what you want," Harry said grimly. "I'm sorry we bothered you." He stalked off, and Hermione had to fight the urge to run after him, to soothe and explain and comfort, the way she always had. But Harry didn't need her. He had Ginny, he had Remus and Tonks and the Weasleys, he had the surviving members of the D.A. and the school staff... 

Severus was painfully, horribly alone. If she didn't stay, if she didn't take care of him, he would die. And nobody but Winky would mourn him. No human being should have to go through that, and she wasn't going to let him. 

Neville touched her arm lightly and she looked around, blinking, realizing she'd been muttering furiously under her breath. "I understand," he said quietly, giving her a rueful half-smile. "I mean, I don't really... you know I'd never get within a hundred miles of him if I could help it. But I understand why you feel like you should stay. I'll... well, I'll try to explain. You take care of yourself." 

"I will." She blinked as he hurried off after Harry. Neville had always been sweet, but perceptiveness was new for him. It was... weird, but certainly pleasant. 

The door was locked, when she went back to it. 

Sighing, she walked around to the back of the house, tapped the large kitchen window with her wand, and temporarily vanished the glass. She climbed through, restored the glass, and headed for the book-lined sitting room. Yes, there he was... black robes gathered around his pitifully thin frame, glaring at the door as if daring it to be broken down. "I suppose it's too much to hope for that you weren't eavesdropping," she said coolly. 

He didn't jump, but he turned to give her an icy glare. "Much too much," he said grimly. "I believe I told you once before, Miss Granger, that your pity was neither wanted nor appreciated." 

"You're still not getting any," she said calmly. "Sympathy and pity are not the same thing." 

"Sophistry," he spat. "I tell you again, Miss Granger, to leave my house, leave me alone, and cease your accursed meddling once and for all." 

She shook her head firmly, folding her arms. "No. I am not going to abandon you, Severus, whether you want me to or not." 

He blinked, and she realized it was the first time she'd actually used his name when he was fully awake. "Taking personal liberties will not endear you to me, Miss Granger, I assure you," he said icily. "I have not given you permission to use my name." 

"After everything we've been through," she said quietly, meeting his furious glare, "we've both earned it. It's fairly pointless to keep trying to pretend we hadly know each other, don't you think?" 

"No," he said grimly. "I don't. You don't know anything about me, Miss Granger, and I would thank you not to pretend that you do." 

"You'd be surprised." She shook her head. "I started looking, you know, when Harry found that book with 'Half-Blood Prince'. I figured it out well before he did. Your mother's marriage, and your birth, were announced in back-issues of the Prophet. And... well. I kept looking. You know me and excessive research." 

He blinked. "Did you choose to invade my personal privacy for any particular reason, Miss Granger, or was it simply for your own... amusement?" He was clinging to the last shreds of his control, and if he'd had strength enough to raise more than a spark or two, he'd have hexed her by now. 

She did him the courtesy of thinking about the question. "I was curious," she admitted. "About you. Most people are really quite simple, when you get down to it. But you... you're very complicated. I still don't know why you do half the things you do." She met his gaze steadily. "You present... a distinct challenge, Severus," she said quietly. "I know you better than you think, but I still don't understand you. I don't think anyone does." 

He looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. She could see him weighing up what she'd said... the implicit compliment to his complexity and her admission that she didn't fully understand him, against her prying. "I'm gratified that you at least acknowledge that you don't understand me," he said, less bitingly than usual. The weighing had, it seemed, been at least slightly in her favour. "Please, never fall under the delusion that you do." 

"I won't." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Will you be joining me in the kitchen for lunch? Winky will be pleased that you're well enough to eat downstairs." 

He stood, drawing his robes around himself. "I will," he said coolly. "If you are able to eat in dignified silence. If you persist in chattering, I will have Winky remove your food to the table in your bedroom." 

"I think I can force myself to concentrate on the food." She stepped aside, to let him precede her into the hall. Showing respect was important. 

He did his best to imitate his former confident, swooping stride, knowing she was watching him. Three steps and he stumbled, his damaged feet unable to cope with the demands he was placing on them, and without thinking, Hermione stepped forward to catch him before he fell. 

There was almost nothing to him, his heavy robes seeming to have more bulk than he did, and she held him easily. Glancing up, she saw the startled, almost fearful expression on his face, inches from hers. She didn't look away, as she steadied him gently. "Make haste a little more slowly, Severus," she said gently. "Recovering from something like what you went through takes time... even for the strongest of wizards." She let go, moving around to hover beside him as unnoticeably as possible. 

He looked uncertain for a long moment, gave her the tiniest nod, and then ignored her as much as he could as he shuffled painfully towards the door. 

After they ate, Severus limped upstairs again, trying to fend Hermione off and then scowling and ignoring her when she persisted in following him up the stairs and watching like an anxious mother hen while he went down the hall to his room. 

He was tired, after the unaccustomed activity, but he didn't return to his bed. Instead, he shuffled over to his desk, lowering himself into the comfortable chair with a sigh. The pain was less than it had been... there were times when he hardly hurt at all... but walking still put a strain on his damaged feet, and he was finding himself short of breath after the smallest exertions. 

He'd been surprised to realize how much Hermione knew about his injuries. She must, almost certainly, have come to St Mungo's to check on him while he'd been comatose - he'd known that someone from the Order had, but not who. It felt... a little odd. She knew what had happened to him, and he had very little idea of what had happened to her. The Weasley boy had died, of course, and there had been the climactic battle - he'd been there for it, but he'd been drifting in and out of consciousness by then. He vaguely remembered wavy brown hair and straight dirty blond, hovering over him as he was magically bound to a board and floated out of Voldemort's lair. 

She'd changed, though. The overenthusiastic child had vanished, replace with a quiet, almost grim woman, who ignored his jibes and who watched him with a shuttered face and haunted eyes. A woman who'd never liked him, yet who watched over him with the same protective gentleness she might have shown to one of her friends, and who had worked to try to understand him. 

He was still angry that she'd invaded his privacy, but at least she didn't think she knew what 'made him tick', or some such nonsense. Her acknowledgement that he was difficult to read and understand was actually rather pleasing. And... he couldn't recall anyone ever making any particular effort to understand him before. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, but 'unsettled' came close. Why would Hermione Granger, of all people, turn that disturbingly serious, thoughtful attention on him? On a maimed, nerve-shattered ex-spy that nobody else cared to remember had ever existed? 

As he had done many times before, he took stock of himself. The fingers and toes were gone. No magic could regrow what had been severed from the body, especially not the way Voldemort had done it. His eye, too, had been destroyed beyond repair, and he had chosen not to be fitted for a magical replacement. His lungs and kidney had been repaired as much as possible, but the malign magics Voldemort had used had fought healing, and they would never be completely whole again. The same malign power had slowed the healing of his scars and the damage to his feet... although he'd been told that his own attitude had not helped. When a muggle didn't want to get well, they slowed their own healing remarkably. When a wizard didn't want to recover, knew he deserved to suffer, it was even harder to force the body to heal. 

Emotionally, he was a wreck. His nerve was gone completely... the terrors that haunted him in the night were nothing new, but even in daylight, now, he was siezed by fits of panic, and could rarely bring himself to leave the house. Self-loathing gripped him... he could never earn forgiveness for what he'd done, nor did he believe that he deserved to. Thoughts of the Greater Good might have helped Albus Dumbledore... they did nothing for Severus Snape, with the parade of reproachful ghosts who filled his dreams. 

All in all, he thought grimly, a useless and unneeded specimen of humanity. It would have been better all around if he'd died. Only the habit of years, the determination to survive, had kept him from taking steps to destroy himself. Simple neglect would have done the job, had Winky and the wretched Hermione not interfered. 

This was a familiar track, and his mind ran along it with ease. Irredeemable, worthless, vile, should have died... he'd thought them many times before. 

The memory of gentle arms holding him protectively, and warm eyes filled with almost tender concern, had no part in this particular train of thought. It refused to fade, though, no matter how often he pushed it to the back of his mind. The two thoughts warred, in his mind, and he sat at his desk blind and deaf to the outside world as the darkness of early spring drew in, and the room got colder. 

"It's nothing serious," the healer said reassuringly, as he slipped out of the bedroom into the hall where Hermione was hovering anxiously. "Just a chill. In his weakened condition it's hitting him hard, but he'll be all right in a few days, if he's kept warm and fed." 

Hermione nodded, gnawing unhappily on her lower lip. "He's been getting up again, the last few days, moving around on his own," she explained. "We thought he was sleeping, after coming downstairs earlier in the day. It wasn't until well after dark that Winky went looking for him and found him sitting at his desk in a cold room." 

"That would do it," the healer agreed. He was a short, stocky wizard with neat brown hair and a bushy mustache, who'd introduced himself as Achille Emendis. "You'll need to keep an eye on him, Miss... Granger, isn't it?" 

Hermione nodded. She'd leaned heavily on her reputation as One Of Harry Potter's Friends, She Was There At The End, to get a proper healer from St Mungo's itself to come out and see him. She didn't know where to find a more local one, and didn't want to have to explain his injuries even if she had. "I will. He's... resisting recovery, to an extent. After a trauma like that... well, I'm sure you've seen more than a few cases, since the end of the war." 

"Too many," he agreed rather sadly. "Post-traumatic stress, survivor's guilt, simple despair... it's not easy to get through to them sometimes." He gave her a curious look. "If I may ask... Are you a relative of some kind?" 

Hermione shook her head. "A former student," she explained, hoping that would be enough. "I've known him for a long time, and I know he has no family living." And disliked him a lot, for most of it, even though she'd always respected him and been a little in awe of his intelligence and power. 

"Ah, I see." He nodded, apparently relieved to find there was a non-dirty explanation for the presence of a young girl in the home of a middle-aged male wizard. Most wizards were terrible prudes, in Hermione's experience. "Well, he's lucky to have you. A great many poor souls, these days, have no-one to call on." 

"He didn't call on me. He orders me out of the house daily, actually." She smiled ruefully. "I ignore him. He's... well, his judgement isn't at its best just now. When he's well enough to throw me out the way he keeps threatening to, then maybe I'll leave." 

Emendis laughed softly. "I see you know something about sick people. Don't take what he says too personally, especially not just now." He patted her arm in a kindly sort of way. "He may be somewhat disoriented, for the next day or so... the fever, you know." 

"I noticed. I'll look after him... and if he gets worse, I'll call on you again." The healer nodded, and after saying a polite but brief goodbye, Hermione slipped into the bedroom. Severus was asleep, at the moment, his thin face damp with sweat, and she drew a comfortable chair over beside the bed. Disoriented was a mild word for what he'd been, last time he'd woken up. She'd stay here. 

That night, she transfigured a couple of chairs, temporarily, into a camp-bed, so she could stay in the room. She was glad that she had, later... another nightmare hit him at around three in the morning, and this time there were no cries to wake her down the hall... even in the same room, his soft whimpers didn't wake her immediately. 

She was still half-asleep when she reached the side of his bed, but the sight of him shocked her awake. She'd seen him terrified, furious, savage, haunted... but she'd never seen him cry before. He was curled in a tight ball, quiet, miserable sobs half-muffled by his pillow. His eyes were open, but she was sure he couldn't see her, and when she touched him, he didn't seem to notice at first. "Severus," she whispered, curling a gentle hand around his tightly clenched fist, as he stared at her unseeingly. "Severus, wake up... shh... it's all right, it's a dream..." 

He burrowed his face into the pillow, and she heard him mumble something, but she couldn't tell what it was. Cautiously, she sat on the edge of the bed, nudging him gently. "It's all right," she murmured, keeping her voice low and gentle. "Shhh, it's all right..." 

She caught the mumble this time. "I'm sorry," he whispered, still staring at whatever demons were haunting him tonight. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." 

"I know," she said gently, resting her hand on her forehead. Still feverish. She smoothed his hair back gently, and then gasped as her other hand was suddenly clutched in both of his. 

He sat up, staring at her with that strange, blank gaze as he clutched at her hands. "I'm sorry," he said pleadingly. "I am... I mean it... please, I'm sorry..." 

"I know you are," she said, feeling horribly helpless. "It's all right, Severus. Don't let it worry you anymore, okay? It's all all right now." 

He stared at her for a moment more, and then he swayed unsteadily. She reached out to steady him, and he leaned against her, letting out a miserable little noise that almost broke her heart. She hugged him gently, letting his head settle on her shoulder. "Shhh..." she breathed, rocking a little. "Shhh... it's all right now. I'm here..." He clung to her, forehead hot against her neck, and she kept rocking, murmuring soothingly. 

He relaxed against her, the sobs fading into slow, gulping breaths... and then he sat up again, and looked at her, and this time he saw her. "Hermione?" he said, seeming puzzled. "What..." 

She let go of him, blushing a little. "You've got a fever," she explained, touching his forehead with her fingertips. "And you were having a nightmare. The combination seemed to make things... worse." 

He nodded, frowning a little, more in bewilderment than disapproval. "It was... bad," he admitted. "But you fixed it." He yawned, and let her tuck him back into bed, which somehow didn't seem nearly as incongruous as it should. "Thank you, Hermione." 

"You're welcome," she said, smiling at him. "I'll be right here, okay? I promise." 

He nodded, yawning again. "Thank you," he said drowsily. "I don't want you to go away..." 

Then he was asleep, and Hermione... was not going to sleep anytime soon. He didn't want her to go away? Since when? Did he mean just now, when he was sleepy and disoriented? Or while he was sick? Or... 

The man told the truth at the most inconvenient times. Like when he could plausibly deny everything when he woke up. 

Feedback is still much appreciated. 


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

It had taken him a long time to work up the courage to come here. 

His mother had told him where the house was some time ago. But Draco hadn't known for a long time if he even wanted to see the man again. Snape had lied to him, from the very beginning... he'd trusted the Potions Master, had treasured the approval and praise he gave so liberally. Only when he'd been given his own mission, one he wasn't sure he could perform, had he turned against the older man, fearful of losing his chance to redeem his family. And even then, Snape had come to his rescue, had killed Dumbledore and protected him... 

But he'd been a spy. All the time. 

Draco had avoided Azkaban by the skin of his teeth. Although he'd been technically a Death Eater, he'd been able to swear truthfully that his life, and his family's lives, had been threatened... and he had, after all, helped Potter in the end, more out of the fear of what Voldemort might do if he lived than anything else. Mother was right... the truth could be a better defense than a lie, if you used it right. She'd been released as well... she'd had even less to do with Voldemort than he had. They were social outcasts now, of course, and most of the family's assets had been siezed, but he was alive and free, and he would take that and be grateful. 

He wasn't sure, even now, what it was that he wanted to ask Snape. Well, no... he knew what he wanted to ask. But running to him like a child, begging for reassurance that Snape had really liked him, had protected him because he wanted to, not to further some subtle purpose of his own... no. 

He rapped on the small, shabby door, frowning. Maybe when he saw him, he'd know what to say. 

Then the door opened, and what he wanted to say said itself. "What are YOU doing here?" he demanded in blank amazement. 

Granger looked up at him... it was her, although she looked very different. Her hair was tied back in a tight braid, and she looked tired and a little drawn. And not at all pleased to see him. "I could ask you the same thing," she said flatly. "What do you want?" 

"To see Professor Snape. This is his house," Draco said, a shade of uncertainty entering his tone. "Isn't it?" 

"Yes." She stepped back, letting him step into a pitifully small, cell-like living room. "Did you let him know you were coming?" 

"No." Draco turned, folding his arms and scowling. To find her, of all people, here... "What are you doing here, Granger?" 

"Looking after him," she said coolly. "Someone has to." She ignored Draco's gaping, and walked to one of the bookcases. It opened, revealing a flight of narrow stairs. "I'll tell him you're here. If he decides to see you, don't agitate him or upset him... it isn't good for him." She left, slamming the bookcase behind her. 

He stared at it for a long time. Hermione Granger? Here? 'Looking after him'? What was that devious little mudblood after? Surely she couldn't think she could trick or cozen Severus Snape... and although she'd improved as she grew up, she certainly didn't have anything special to offer in the physical sense. So why was she here? Why hadn't Snape thrown her out? 

He was looking the other bookshelves over, and getting impatient enough to consider leaving, when he heard the bookcase open again and turned to give Granger a piece of his mind. And flinched. 

Snape saw the flinch, and smiled thinly. "I am afraid, Draco, that you haven't caught me at my best," he said dryly. In a horrible, unintentional parody of his usual slow pace, he limped to the chair and sat down with a quiet sigh. "What brings you here?" 

Even if Draco had known what he wanted to say, the sight of the man he'd respected and admired from childhood would have left him speechless. The deep, purplish scars, his skeletal thinness and obvious weakness... looking after him, Granger had said. He hadn't realized she meant this. "I... wanted to see you, sir," he said lamely, and then wanted to kick himself. That sounded so stupid. 

"And you have seen me." Snape leaned back in his chair, his remaining eye surveying his former student with a cool, calculating gaze. "Did you come by merely to enjoy the freak-show, Draco, or did you wish to speak as well?" 

"I didn't... know," Draco admitted. "That it was this bad. I would have come sooner, if I had." And that was true. The Potions Master had been guardedly kind to him, offered him precious approval and acceptance. There were few people who, if Draco had been willing to admit it, meant more to him. 

Snape gave him a piercing look, and then relaxed slightly, a slight smile briefly curling the corner of his mouth. "Aside from Miss Granger, few do," he admitted. "And she, as I'm sure you are aware, is abominably nosy. I certainly didn't intend for her to find out." 

Draco nodded. "Sir... why is she here?" he asked, more than a little bewildered. "Why haven't you gotten rid of her, if you don't want her here?" 

The smile faded, and he looked away. "Because I can't," he said, rather grimly. "I have been... considerably weakened, by my injuries and a recent illness. I lack the ability, at this time, to eject that wretched girl from my home. I assure you, I will throw her bodily from the house the moment I am capable of doing so." 

Draco swallowed hard. For Snape to admit to a weakness, it must be a truly dire one. "I... see." He sat down on the edge of the narrow sofa, frowning a little. "That doesn't explain why she-" 

"If all you wish is to discuss Miss Granger's presence, Draco, you might more profitably discuss it with her. She is willing to go into details as to the reasons for her presence. I am not." 

Draco subsided. "I... yes, of course, sir." He looked down at his hands. "My mother asked me to make her apologies," he said, taking refuge in the formalities. "She is unable to visit, at this time, but she may at some time in the future. She asked me to thank you for keeping your word." 

Snape's face softened slightly. "Please give her my greetings. And... soften your report of my condition, if possible. I am recovering, and would not have her worry for no reason." 

Draco nodded. "I will. She's... she gets upset easily, these days. I won't do anything to make things more difficult." 

He nodded. "I suppose," he said, rather grimly, "you want to know about my... loyalties. During the war." Draco jumped, and he inclined his head. "It requires no great deductive skills on my part. I would wonder, in your position." 

"Yes." Draco nodded, his fists clenching on his knees. "I want to know... why you changed sides so often." 

"I didn't," Snape said coolly. "I only ever changed sides once, Draco. I repented of my loyalties to the Dark Lord, I went to Dumbledore, and he took me in and forgave me. From that day, I was loyal only to him, and to my own conscience." He quirked an eyebrow as Draco stared at him in surprise. "I do have one. Somewhat vestigial, but it's there." 

Draco scowled. "You told me once that a conscience was a weakness," he said accusingly. So Snape had lied to him. 

"I told you, as I recall, that..." Snape closed his eye for a moment, remembering. "Only the weak permit themselves to be ruled by the prickings of conscience. Like fear and anger and pride, it makes a poor master." He opened his eye again, looking at Draco. "The saying goes, if you recall, that pride makes a good servant but a poor master. All four of those qualities, as I tried to imply without saying the words outright, are useful if kept under control... only when they control you are they a weakness." 

"You could have just told me that!" Draco snapped. He'd been wrong, Snape wasn't different... he was exactly like Draco's father, expecting him to just know what he was being told, what he needed to know, from the tiniest of clues. 

"I didn't dare!" Snape sat up straighter, his eye flashing with annoyance. "I tried to lead you into safer paths than those your parents chose for you, Draco, but I did not dare to do so openly! If they or you had ceased to trust me-" 

"And I shouldn't have trusted you!" Draco didn't care that he was being unreasonable. Knowing that yet another person he cared about had lied to him, treated him like an idiot child who couldn't be trusted. "You lied to me, all that time-" 

"I was trying to protect you!" Snape shouted back, rising to his feet as Draco did the same. "If your father had ever suspected that I was leading you astray-" 

"Oh, it was for my benefit? I was just too stupid to understand? Well, of course, that makes sense now! I should be grateful for your condescension, shouldn't I?" Draco's voice rose, pain and anger harshening it. "You let me walk blindly into the Death Eaters because you were too concerned for my welfare to WARN ME!" 

Snape drew a breath to roar back... and then he choked. Staggering, he prested a hand to his chest, making hoarse sounds as he tried to draw in another breath and couldn't seem to manage it. Horrified, Draco stood rooted to the spot, not knowing what to do, what to think... 

A door slammed open behind him, and a slender blur in blue robes dashed past him, catching Snape, ashen-faced now, as he staggered again. "I told you not to agitate him!" she hissed, turning a furious glare on Draco. "Get out of the way!" She supported Snape to the sofa, helping him down onto it. Kneeling beside him, she fished a small vial from her pocket and opened it, holding it to his lips. "Drink this," she told him, and her voice was gentler and warmer than Draco would have imagined possible. "Try to relax... that's it." The ghastly pallor was fading, and Snape was breathing hoarsely again. "That's better. Don't try to talk," she added, as his mouth opened again. "Just lie very still, relax, and get your breathing steady first. You know what the healer said." She stood, turning to Draco again, and her eyes narrowed. "And you," she said, in the shrewish tones he knew far too well. "Come with me. Now." She grabbed his arm, dragging him through the door she'd burst through - again, hidden behind a bookcase. 

Still stunned, Draco let him drag him down a dark, narrow hall into a tiny, messy dining-room that was clearly being used as a study. "It's been months," he said worriedly, glancing over his shoulder. "How long will it be until he's fully recovered?" 

Granger turned to him, scowling. "He won't," she said flatly. "He'll get better, but he's never going to recover completely." 

Draco actually felt his jaw drop. "But... not ever?" he asked, almost childishly. Snape had always seemed so strong, almost invulnerable... 

"No. Not ever. The damage... there was just too much. His lungs are damaged - he's all right most of the time, but if he exerts himself too much, or gets too upset... well, you saw what happened." She looked away, and he realized with surprise that instead of the triumph he'd expected, she looked sad. "It's hard for him, knowing he's lost so much," she said quietly. "He doesn't even have his health, anymore." 

Draco nodded slowly. "Why are you here?" he asked again, really wanting an answer this time. 

She shrugged. "He needs me," she said quietly. "Well... he needs someone. And given that you're the first visitor since me, and he'd have been dead long before you got here if I hadn't showed up... I sort of got volunteered by fate." She smiled a wry, humourless smile. "Believe it or not, I was actually almost glad to see you. Someone - anyone - wanting to see him can only help the state of mind he's been in." 

"But you always hated him," Draco said, frowning. Even for an insanely, inanely noble and self-sacrificing Gryffindor, surely this didn't make sense."Why would you do this? Why not... I don't know, call me or one of the other Slytherins?" 

"Why? Because, once I pointed out the fact that he'd crawled off alone to die, you would suddenly have cared?" she snapped. "I was the only person who bothered to come looking for him. I wouldn't have trusted anyone I had to drag here by the ear to do their duty." 

"Why would YOU care?" he fired back. "Even for a sentimental Gryffindor-" 

"Oh, for god's sake, stop it with the House rubbish!" she snarled. "We're not at school anymore, Draco, remember? I wouldn't have left anyone alone and suffering the way he was. Not even you, and unlike him, I have NO respect for you." 

Draco opened his mouth, and realized that he had no idea what to say. She'd changed a lot, from the scrawny, aggravating girl he remembered. Everything had changed, since then. Somewhat to his surprise, he realized that he'd changed, too. "I didn't have any for you, either," he said, but not with any particular animosity. "At least, not until now. Now... I'm not sure. I'm glad someone was here to take care of him." 

"Even if it had to be me?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and smiling a little. She had a kind of pretty smile, he realized. 

"Even if it had to be you," he agreed, smiling rather ruefully. "Will he be... all right? After I upset him, I mean." 

She nodded. "It's happened a few times before. He's probably able to talk again by now, actually... we should probably go back in before he starts trying to walk around. He's supposed to rest after these attacks, but he never wants to." Her voice softened distinctly when the topic turned to Snape. It was... weird. And a little disturbing. 

Draco followed her into the sitting-room, to find Snape sitting up, slumped a little against the back of the sofa. "I'm... sorry, sir," he said guiltily, seeing how pale the older man still was. 

Snape made an impatient noise. "Don't be ridiculous. It's hardly your doing that my lungs are a mess." He leaned back against the sofa's high back, closing his eye for a moment. "I am sorry, Draco, that I couldn't do more to protect you," he said quietly, ignoring their startled expressions. "If I'd known that you were going to be recruited to the Death Eaters before you had even finished your schooling, I would have warned you more plainly." 

"I... thank you, sir." And he would. Draco believed him - he would never have embarrassed himself by admitting to a fault (in front of Granger at that), if it hadn't been important to him. "I should go. Would it... may I visit again, to see how you're doing?" 

Snape blinked, and then gave Draco the rare, slight smile that he bestowed on few others. "I would... like that," he admitted, looking a little embarrassed and... pleased. "Thank you, Draco."

* * *

Pain made for restless sleep, and Severus was reluctant to rely on sleeping potions. Hermione pressed them on him now and then, when he'd had more than one or two bad nights in a row, but other than that, she held her peace. She was, he was willing to concede at least to himself, a very good nurse. She respected his privacy and his dignity, but at the same time wasn't afraid to push him when it was necessary. He shuddered to think what it would have been like if he'd stayed at Hogwarts... Poppy Pomfrey was a good nurse in her way, but she fussed. Endlessly. Continuously. He would have jumped out of a window within days, just to get away. 

So he was awake when a soft cry came from the next room. Muffled by the wall, he wasn't entirely sure he'd heard it until it came again a moment later. Hermione. Well, she had said, during that first embarrassing episode, that he'd have his chance to wake her from nightmares... 

He slid out of bed, pulling a heavy black dressing-gown around himself and limping towards the door. He owed her several wakings by now, including the one he only vaguely remembered, thanks to the fever... but the memory of soft, protective arms around him, holding him as she crooned reassurances, was persistent. He hadn't admitted that to her, of course. 

As soon as he opened her door, he knew he'd been right. The moon shining in her window showed him that she was thrashing against the blanket that had wound itself against her legs, whimpering and crying out in protest. "No... no, please..." she sobbed, clawing at it with sleep-weakened hands. "I don't... no..." 

"Miss Granger..." No. That wouldn't work. He could see why she'd started doing it now. "Hermione," he said gently, limping towards the bed. "Hermione, wake up. It's just a dream." He leaned down to touch her shoulder, shaking her gently. "Hermione?" 

She sat up so fast she nearly cracked her head against his face. Her eyes were huge and she was trembling. "What... I... no..." she gasped, pushing his hand away and scrambling for the edge of the bed. Then she seemed to wake fully, stilling and lifting shaking hands to rub her face. "Oh, god..." she whispered. "It's been weeks since I had that one." She looked up at him, and he wasn't sure if it was the moonlight or the nightmare that left her as pale as a ghost. "Thank you," she whispered, her lip trembling. "For... waking me up, before..." 

Her protests, the way she'd reacted to being touched... he thought he could guess what that particular nightmare featured. He wasn't sure what to do... would touching her again distress her more, or comfort her as it had comforted him? He settled for sitting cautiously on the very edge of the bed, trying to stay close enough for reassurance, but far enough away that he wouldn't unnerve her further. He was no good at being comforting, damn it! "You did say that I might have to," he pointed out. "You've done the same for me, several times. I could hardly do less." 

She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself. "It's... thanks," she whispered again, drawing in shuddering breaths, trying to master herself again. He recognized the state - he'd been through it himself more times than he could count. "That particular dream... I'd rather not live through that again." 

He nodded. "I am familiar with the feeling," he said rather wryly. "I... is there anything I can do?" he added rather lamely. "Tea, perhaps?" 

She shook her head, swallowing convulsively. "I'd just be sick. Just... talk to me for a minute, please? If I'm not fully awake for a while, it'll pull me back in." 

He nodded. That feeling, too, he knew. Usually he read to combat it, but he had to admit that Hermione's irritating presence worked surprisingly well too. "The full moon was once said to bring nightmares," he said, glancing up at it through the window. "And madness. Or, sometimes, wisdom..." And then he stopped, because she'd started to cry, helpless, convulsive sobs that shook her slender body. "I... I'm sorry, did I say something...?" 

"No," she gasped between sobs. "I... you were just being so normal, and it felt so unreal, and I just..." She turned towards him blindly, and he found his arms automatically going around her as she clung to him, her face buried in his shoulder as she cried. 

He had little experience with tears, and less still with comfort, but he tried to imitate what she'd done before... holding her gently, cradling her against him, and rocking just a little bit. The soothing noises he felt unequal to attempting, but not because he didn't want to comfort her. He just didn't really know how... 

What he was doing seemed to be right - she clung to him, crying hard at first, but her sobs slowly eased, and she relaxed against him, almost nestling against him as he held her gently. "I'm sorry," she whispered, after a while, sniffling a little as she lifted her head from his shoulder. "I shouldn't have... fallen apart all over you, like that." 

It was easier, in the room full of shadows and moonlight, to be honest with her. And with himself. "If not me," he said softly, "then who?" She gave him a startled look, her eyes still glimmering with tears, and he gave her a small but genuine smile. "You have done similar service for me. I should certainly return the favour." 

"I suppose I have, haven't I?" She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her nightgown... not the skimpy satin thing, this time, but a more traditional garment made of fine, soft cotton. "I didn't think you remembered." 

"It is... all quite hazy," he admitted. "But I do remember. I simply had no reason to admit it." 

She managed a weak laugh at that. "I guess not." She looked at him, and reached up to touch his cheek lightly with cool fingertips. "We're both kind of broken, I guess," she whispered. "It's... easier to admit to someone else, if they are too." 

"It is," he agreed, the touch sending an odd little shock through him. He didn't usually like to be touched... too many bad memories to be brought back. But this... was almost pleasant. "And that is a good description, I think. We are both... somewhat broken." 

"But still standing," she said softly, smiling a little. "We're both stubborn. None of that sissy falling down." 

Broken, but still standing... he liked that thought. It described him well... and her, too, now that he thought about it. "Stubbornness is underrated," he agreed. "I've always rather valued it." 

"Me too." She sniffled, and reached out to give his hand a brief squeeze. "Is that offer of tea still open? I think I could manage it now."

* * *

After that, things were... different. And on the whole, better. Although Severus was no less vitriolic at times, a lot of the defensiveness was gone. He was more relaxed around her, and they even managed several quite pleasant conversations, mostly on the topic of potions... their brewing, their invention, obscure descriptions in books... He had hundreds of books on the subject, and - in a clear lowering of at least one barrier - finally gave her permission to read them. 

And Winky confirmed what Hermione had suspected... the small, sturdy shed down at the end of the run-down garden was a potions laboratory - and rather larger on the inside than on the outside. Given their new understanding, and his slow lowering of his defenses... 

It was filthy, of course. Winky had been ordered not to go in so forcefully that, free or not, she hadn't dared even peek around the door. A great many of the ingredients in bottles and jars had withered, dried up, or congealed, their preserving spells long gone. He hadn't been in here in a long time. 

Winky still wouldn't set foot in the shed, but once Hermione piled cauldrons, beakers, vials, and assorted other items outside, they were whisked away for the most thorough scrubbing of their lives. Meanwhile, Hermione wrapped a scarf around her masses of untidy curls, opened the door and both windows, and declared war on dust, dirt, grime, and tiny manylegged creatures alive and dead. 

She hadn't bothered to tell Severus what she was doing. She assumed he'd notice sooner or later. What with the clouds of dust, and all. 

She'd been working hard for nearly an hour when the light was suddenly blocked. Looking up from her excavations under a long bench - mountains of dirt and dust, several bits of broken glass, and a tiny, mummified mouse corpse that she'd covered up hastily with the dirt after sweeping it into the dustpan - she blinked at Severus, who was glaring down at her. "Hello," she said brightly. 

His eye narrowed. "What," he said, his voice icy, "do you think that you are doing?" 

"Cleaning. This place was _filthy_," she said with a virtuous air. "I've had to throw a lot of things away already." 

"Throw things-" He went almost purple, and she fumbled hastily for the lung-clearing potion in her pocket. "Hermione Granger, do you DARE sit there and admit that you have been casting my possessions away!" 

"Not possessions, exactly," she said, getting to her feet. She was wearing muggle clothes today - as much as she liked the loose, flowing comfort of robes, they weren't much use for cleaning. Loose jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt were much more practical. "Ingredients. I can't imagine you having any sentimental attachment to daisy roots that are now so much kindling, or frogspawn - I think it was frogspawn - that's all dried onto the sides of the jar." 

The purplish colour receded and she relaxed. Prodding him into activity was good. Prodding him into another attack wasn't. "That... is true," he conceded rather grudgingly. "If the preserving charms had run down..." 

"They had." Hermione wrinkled her nose. "It smelled as if an A-to-Z of magical creatures had crawled in here to die." 

"And that should have been an indication that I wished the place to remain shut up," he growled, looking around with an offended air. "Not an invitation to crawl around in the dirt, cleaning _by hand_..." His opinion of _that_ distasteful muggle habit was clear from his scathing tone. 

"Yes, by hand." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Severus Snape, if YOU think it would be a good idea to start throwing spells around in a small, breakable building in which an assortment of very magical substances had been slowly decaying for god only knows how long, you're not nearly as intelligent as I thought." 

He opened his mouth, and closed it again, giving her the furious look that she recognized from Potions as 'you've actually out-logicked me, but I'm never EVER going to admit it'. "There are ways to avoid causing... difficulties," he said loftily. He looked around, and his face softened a little. "It's been so long since I used it, I'd almost forgotten it was here," he admitted. 

"I thought that, since it's here, it's foolish for me to keep making potions up in the kitchen. And rather unsanitary, too," Hermione agreed, looking around. It was going to be quite nice, when it was clean again... it was all built and arranged for someone taller, of course, but it was convenient and well-organized. She loathed messy workspaces, and from his constant bitching in Potions, she knew he did too. "We're almost out of the salve we've been using on your scars again." 

Severus blinked. "I was under the impression that you had gotten that from a healer," he said, rather suspiciously. "You've been making it up yourself?" 

"And improving on it a little." She caught his suspicious look and rolled her eyes. "Severus, this is me. I was brilliant at Potions, remember?" She tilted her head back, touching the side of her neck. "I just wish I'd gotten it to work on you sooner." 

He blinked, leaning in a little to look... and then he reached out, and she felt calloused fingertips trace the line of very faint burn-scars. "I'd never noticed them before," he said quietly. 

"They weren't as bad as yours, but the salve helped a lot." She smiled wryly. "I have quite a few more." Most of them in places that didn't usually show, something he was bright enough to work out without her spelling it out for him. "Nothing to compare to yours, of course." 

He nodded slowly, and gave her a small, wry smile. "I will continue using the salve," he said, conceding the point. "It is certainly effective." He paused, and then curiosity obviously got the better of him. "What, precisely, do you use in it?" 

Aha. He was interested. Hermione smiled. "As soon as this place is cleared out, I'll show you," she offered. "I'll make a potion, you can watch and criticize, it'll be like old times." 

He considered that, then shook his head, smiling again. "Not like old times. I am no longer a teacher, burdened with dozens of unwilling, dunderheaded students. We might, perhaps, work together." He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Athough please do not take that to mean, Miss Granger, that you have nothing left to learn. I assure you, that is hardly the case." 

She giggled, feeling very good all of a sudden. "I know. I'm still but a humble beginner." She assumed a very meek expression. "A brilliant, gifted, ingenious humble beginner, mind you." 

He laughed, and she almost fell over from the shock. She'd never heard him laugh before - not a laugh of genuine amusement, rather than a sardonic little exercise in exhaled irony. "And so modest, too," he said dryly, smiling at her. "Get on with your cleaning." 

"You're not going to help?" she demanded. 

"Of course not." He pulled his immaculate robes around him, drawing himself up to his full height. "I am not a well man," he said gravely. "The dust would be very bad for me. You may finish alone." 

He swept off up the path, while Hermione swung helplessly between wanting to laugh and wanting to throw the dead mouse at him. He'd actually laughed, and made a joke about his infirmities, and that was so GOOD that she wanted to dance for joy... 

On the other hand, he'd left her to do all this cleaning by herself, and THAT merited a dead mouse if anything did.

* * *

**Thanks for all the feedback:) It's definite incentive to get the later chapters tidied up and posted. (The story's finished, but I'm still getting the hang of formatting it myself) **

MelissaJooty, I will definitely check out Ashwinder, and vanityfair, I'm sorry about the abrupt POV shifts - my scene dividers vanished! Hopefully they're working now, and they make the shifts in POV less jarring. Everyone else, thank you so much for the kind words! I hope you like the next chapter. 


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

"Hermione must come!" Winky popped into existence in the doorway of the small laboratory, where Hermione was carefully compounding a mild sleeping-draught. He resisted using sleeping potions - especially the stronger ones - but now and then they both had too many bad nights in a row, and needed it. And she preferred to make it herself, now that she could - at least then she'd know it could be trusted. 

She carefully dripped four drops of lavender oil into the potion - for sweet dreams, and to counteract the smell of the mouse-spleen - and only then looked up. "What is it, Winky?" she asked, lowering the flame under the small cauldron so it could simmer. 

"Master Snape is being too active," Winky said anxiously, bobbing and wringing her hands. "One of the scars on his back is split and bleeding. He is saying not to tell you, but Winky is not able to help, and he cannot reach..." 

"Stupid man," Hermione said resignedly. "Of course, Winky, I'm coming. Please bring the healing salve and some hot water and clean cloths." The potion would have to simmer for at least an hour, so it should be safe to leave it for a while. 

Shoving her wand in her pocket, she hurried up the path to the back door. She'd really hoped he was past this stupid independent thing. She'd been willing to leave tending the injuries that she couldn't see while he was fully dressed to Winky, while it was a matter of dabbing on salve, but this... no. "Severus?" she called, after she tracked him down to a firmly closed bedroom door. "Are you in there?" 

She heard a muffled exclamation that sounded like a curse, and then he answered. "Winky told you, didn't she? I'm perfectly all right." 

"You are not. She wouldn't have fetched me if you were." It was still early - not quite eight. Winky had probably been helping him to dress when she found the problem. "Are you decent?" She was sure she heard a quick rustle before his testy 'yes', and was careful to open the door slowly. 

He was back in bed, wearing a nightshirt, and he scowled at her. "Hermione, I am perfectly all right," he told her, clutching his blankets just a little defensively. "There is no need for you to be concerned." 

"Yes there is. Let me see," Hermione said firmly. She had a sudden and very inappropriate urge to giggle - if anyone had told her when she'd first met the Potions Teacher that one day she'd be using the Mum Voice to try to get him out of his nightshirt, she'd probably have fainted. 

"No." He pulled his blankets up a bit further and glared. "Go away." 

"No." She made an impatient noise, as Winky appeared with a tray, took one look at her adopted Master's horrible scowl, and promptly vanished again, leaving the tray on the floor. "Severus, stop being silly," she said gently. "I'm not going to leave this alone, and you know it... and I'm not going to jump you, either!" she added, grinning, as he inched away across the bed, glaring at her suspiciously. "For heaven's sake, you're acting like a bashful virgin." 

He sat straight up, dropping the blankets. "I most certainly am not!" he yelped indignantly... and then, to her surprise, he actually blushed. She hadn't thought he knew how. "I... very well. If you must." 

Fortunately for both of them, the nightshirt was a very old-fashioned one - like most wizard clothes - and the drawstring neck opened wide enough that she could pull it down to bare his upper back and shoulders. The nightshirt had a smear of blood on it, and the thick, knotted scar that snaked down over his shoulder and across his back had split in two places. She tutted softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed so she could get close, and drew out her wand. "You've been skimping on the salve," she said reproachfully, smoothing her hand lightly over the skin alongside the scar. It was a little dry, and it shouldn't be. 

He twitched his shoulder a little. "Not intentionally," he said quietly. "I'm... there are times when I prefer not to be touched." 

Hermione nodded, levitating the tray over to her and dabbing gently at the splits with the warm water. "I know the feeling," she admitted, just as quietly. "It... brings things back, sometimes." 

"Yes." He didn't speak again, while she cleaned the wounds and whispered a soft, singing healing charm to close them, but he relaxed slowly, until he was almost leaning into her touch instead of trying to pull away from it. 

"There," she whispered, smoothing the salve over the scar, and the others that she could see. She wished they'd been talking. As the silence weighed heavier, the moment had become somehow almost... intimate. They'd gone from being enemies, to adversaries, to cautious allies, and she'd been in favour of change up until then... but now, for the first time, she was unsettlingly aware of him as being _male_. An intelligent, strongwilled male, with a nice laugh and warm skin and a pleasant smell of herbs. 

She didn't welcome the awareness. It was the first time, since Ron had died, that she'd really thought about anyone as... attractive wasn't the right word, but it would do. And it felt as if she was betraying Ron, somehow. "There," she repeated, more firmly, giving his shoulder a little pat and standing up. "It should be all right now." 

He pulled his nightshirt up over his shoulders. "Thank you," he said, a little grudgingly. He shifted his shoulders a little, and nodded. "It does feel better," he conceded. From him, it was the equivalent of positive effusions of gratitude. 

"Good." She smiled at him, but it felt a little awkward as she moved around and their eyes met. Had he noticed? She hoped not. She valued the slow, tentative friendship they were developing, she didn't want to lose it over a moment of uncomfortable awareness. 

He nodded, and then gave her a very normal, Snape-like smile. "If you wouldn't mind," he said, inclining his head meaningfully towards the door, "I would like to dress, Miss Granger." 

She giggled, reassured, and headed for the door. "Have fun. I'll be in the lab when you're done." 

Severus watched her go, relaxing as the door closed behind her. She hadn't noticed. Good. 

He couldn't remember the last time he'd let himself be so... exposed. Half-naked, wandless, without even the physical strength to throw her out of the room. It had felt disturbingly pleasant. And the soft hands on his bare skin had reminded him rather insistently how very long it had been since he'd been on intimate terms with a woman... and that it had never been with one he trusted as much as he trusted Hermione Granger. 

It was ridiculous, of course. He was old enough to be her father, and although he might hope for friendship, anything else would be... ludicrous. He was glad she hadn't noticed.

* * *

Hermione spent a couple of days hoping for a distraction from the sudden, unwanted realization that Severus was not just a former teacher or an invalid. When two owls arrived, each bearing a letter from the Ministry, her wish seemed to have been granted... although what they wanted, she wasn't sure. Perhaps a renewal of the job offers she'd gotten from several Departments - from Mysteries to International Cooperation, Harry Potter's reasonably bright friend had been in demand, as they all rushed not to be stuck with the dimmer heroes like Neville. The money would have been welcome, around now - she'd spent what small savings she had on potions ingredients, and although wizards could live for a long, long time without money, if they knew their domestic spells, they were going to need money eventually. 

But she couldn't leave, not now. He was just starting to get better, to take an interest in life again. If she left, he'd drop straight back into his depression. 

One of the envelopes was addressed to her, the other to Severus. She opened hers, frowning a little, and hastily scanned the first page. 

Then spent a few minutes using words that most of her teachers would have been very surprised that she even knew, let alone could say aloud. Be careful what you wish for, you might get it. That was doubly true in the wizarding world - chance was easily influenced, coincidence practically a resident, and as for Murphy's Law... 

She had been summoned to testify at the trial of Bellatrix Lestrange... finally captured, and with a three-ring trial about to go underway. No chance she'd escape the way her sister and nephew had... she'd killed too many, and enjoyed it too much. 

There was a small slip of parchment tucked in with the official letter, and she unfolded it with some trepidation. 

_'Dear Hermione, _

I hope you're all right. Molly says that you've been looking after Severus Snape because he's still not well. He's been summoned to testify too, and it's really very important that he come if he can, so if you can arrange for him to make it, please do. We'll arrange a place for you both to stay in London if you can make it - the owl will wait for a reply. Do take care of yourself, Hermione. 

Arthur Weasley' 

She relaxed a little, smiling a tiny bit. That was Mr Weasley all over.. awkward, blunt, but very sweet. It was nice that he hadn't had a written fit at her, either... Molly had, of course, heard the whole story from Harry, and sent a very long, anxious letter asking for explanations, but once Hermione had let her know what was going on she'd kindly let it go. 

Oh, god. She had no idea how Severus was going to take this. He barely ever left the house, and he hadn't gone further than the potions lab since she'd been there. And he didn't like people staring at him, and the way he looked now, it was inevitable. And the agitation could make him ill again, even though he'd been better lately and hadn't had an attack for over a week... 

She allowed herself to be tempted for one moment to just tear up his letter and send the owl back with a firm no. Then, sighing, she set the temptation aside. Deceit would be bad, especially now that he was just starting to trust her a little. Besides, Arthur wouldn't have said it was important unless it really was. 

He was reading, when she found him in the small sitting-room. It was a good sign... his books were starting to interest him again. She hesitated in the doorway, debating whether to disturb him... and then he looked up, scowling a little. "Must you hover?" he asked irritably. "I assure you, I will not overstrain myself by reading quietly." 

She smiled. The vituperative explosions had stopped, but nothing would ever make Severus Snape less grumpy. She'd stopped minding. "We've been summoned," she said softly, holding out the unopened envelope to him. "It's... well. Not going to be pleasant." 

He raised an eyebrow and took the envelope. "I have no intention of being summoned anywhere," he began... and then he fell silent, reading. Watching anxiously, Hermione saw him go very pale, his jaw clenching. When he'd read the letter right through, he laid it down gently on his lap. His hands were shaking visibly. "Unpleasant indeed," he said, his voice just a little unsteady. 

"Very." She moved closer, reaching out to touch his shoulder lightly. "You don't have to go," she said gently. "If you're not ready for it, excuses can be made..." 

He shook his head. "I have to go," he said quietly, still very pale. "This... is something I should do." 

Damned be dignity, hers and his. She sat down on the footstool beside the chair, reaching out to take his hand. She could feel it trembling, and he didn't pull it away, which was a worrying sign of just how upset he was. "I've been called too," she said softly. "There was a note from Mr Weasley, saying how important it was that we go... I'm not sure why, he didn't say. They must surely have plenty of other witnesses." 

He took a ragged breath. "And yet you suggested that I remain here," he said, but not as accusingly as he might have a few months before. 

"I'm absolutely certain that they can convict her without us," Hermione said, and as much as she wished otherwise, she wasn't entirely calm and steady herself. "I'd like to be there. I saw her kill... people." She looked down at her knees. "Ron," she added, her voice in turn a little unsteady. "But I'm not going to let you risk dying as well when you don't need to." 

She didn't know what expression was on his face, because she was staring determinedly at her knees while trying not to cry, but after a moment he closed his cool fingers gently around hers. "Then we will both go," he said calmly, his voice reassuringly matter-of-fact. 

She nodded, blinking hard, and looked up to give him a wry little smile. "Mr Weasley said he'd arrange a place for us to stay... he evidently thinks we'll have to stay at least overnight. I'll let him know that we'll be coming." 

"Very well." He paused, and a bitter, unhappy expression crossed his face ."I will... require help," he said very quietly. "I do not think I can apparate unassisted." 

It must have cost his pride dearly, admitting that, and she nodded, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "Of course," she said matter-of-factly. "I'll help. I've done Side-Along apparition before." 

He nodded. "I... appreciate it." The trembling was subsiding now, and he wasn't quite so pale. He would never, ever admit it, if it were so, but she thought he might feel a little better knowing she was going to be there. And having him to look after would make things... easier for her, too. She always felt better when she could _do_ something. 

"It's all right." She sighed. "She's the last one," she said softly. "Who hadn't been caught or killed, I mean. When the trial's finished... well, it won't be over. After everything we've all been through, the war won't ever be done, not really. But the hunting, and still being afraid that they're out there... that'll be done." 

"It will." He sighed a little, relaxing back into his chair. "Some... I believe the Muggle term is 'closure'?" 

"Something like that." Hermione nodded. "I'll go write to Mr Weasley... and let Winky know. She'll want to make sure everything's clean and mended and everything." She paused, letting a pleasanter thought distract her from the coming trial. "I wonder if she'd like to visit Dobby, while we're gone? He was very fond of her, I remember. Perhaps they miss each other." 

He blinked, giving her an almost amused look. "I suppose it's possible. Will she let us leave her behind, though? She's quite... persistent." 

"She will," Hermione said confidently. "She trusts me to look after you." 

She couldn't for the life of her understand why that announcement put such an odd look on his face.

* * *

He was finally putting on a little weight again, he noticed, inspecting himself in the mirror. He looked slightly less like an ambulatory set of empty robes, at least. And, fortunately, the robes he wore when not teaching were cut to flow loosely, so it didn't show that they were now rather too big. 

Black might, perhaps, be a bad choice. Given that it was known that he had been a Death Eater... on the other hand, he always wore black. Changing now might be seen as a tacit admission of guilt. And if he wanted to change their colour, he'd have to ask for help, something he loathed doing... even if Winky and Hermione were much less embarrassing to ask, somehow, than everyone else. No. They could stay black. 

He had, however, tied his hair back into a short tail. As much as he preferred to hide behind it, hiding would not be politic today. Besides... the more visible his scars were, the better. 

The trial would begin in three hours. He would, without doubt, have to talk about... things. He'd been spared that at his own trial, since he'd been unconscious at the time, and Hermione hadn't known the half of it. (Although she'd been disturbingly accurate about his basic motivations and tactics, and if he hadn't known she had no training whatsoever in Legilimancy...) 

He didn't want to do this. He would, in point of fact, have preferred to be tortured again. But it was only what he deserved. He could never atone for what he'd done, he deserved to be punished for it, so he would do what he had to do. 

Limping over to his desk, he sat down in the comfortable chair. Winky had helped him to dress, and Hermione had brought up a mild Strengthening Potion to replace the breakfast he'd been unable to face, but then they'd both acceeded to his request for time alone to gather his thoughts. They were not proving amenable to gathering, nor were calm or resignation easy to achieve. 

Thoughts of the two very different females who had insistently invaded his life, however, did at least provide a distraction, as they had for days, and he frowned a little in thought. 'She trusts me to take care of you'. That was what Hermione had said. And it hadn't seemed odd to her, but of course it wouldn't - childish efforts to free the Hogwarts house-elves aside, she didn't know much about them. 

Severus did. House-elves were notoriously possessive of their humans. Most of them didn't trust the average human to be able to take care of him-or-herself, let alone taking care of someone else... and to trust another human to look after THEIR person was almost unheard of. And yet Winky had, after a little anxious fussing, agreed to Hermione's suggestion that she go to visit Dobby while they were away. And had proceeded to give Hermione a long list of instructions on the proper care and feeding of one Severus Snape, who'd had to struggle to hide his shock. Hermione had been absolutely right - Winky trusted her to take care of him. 

Not without reason, he had to concede. Winky had certainly seen almost as much as he had; the camp-bed in his room while he was ill, the times she'd caught him when he stumbled, the brewing of potions and salves to help him rest and heal... Hermione was, despite the many reasons she had for despising him, doing a very good impression of being genuinely fond of him and concerned for his wellbeing. It was odd - and not a little disturbing, frankly, especially given his new awareness of her. 

That train of thought was almost as disturbing as the one involving the trial, although in a very different way. It was almost a relief when a tap on the door summoned him from his thoughts.

* * *

He still felt way too thin, but at least she could tell the robes were occupied now. 

Hermione let go, checking both of them a little anxiously for signs of splinching. Everything seemed to be with them, good. "There," she said, relaxing a little. "How are you feeling?" 

"Intact," he said grimly. He had been grim all morning - so had she, really. This was going to be hard on both of them. 

"Good. Mr Weasley said he'd meet us near the fountain." She set off towards it, moving slowly but careful not to hover. He hated it enough when she did it in private, he'd bite her head off if she tried it in public. 

He followed, the cane she'd convinced him to use clunking softly on the floor. No Lucius Malfoy style pimp-cane for him, of course... it was a long, very heavy piece of blackened oak that would make a quite satisfactory club. He'd agreed to use it only after she'd pointed out the usefulness of subtly emphasizing his ongoing infirmity to anyone who might doubt that Voldemort had REALLY tortured him - being manipulative was less wounding to his dignity than admitting that he really needed the thing. "It's improved," he said, when they got closer to the fountain. 

"It has," she agreed. After the fight that had destroyed it nearly three years before, the fountain had been rebuilt with a rather different theme - no worshipful non-humans or smirking beauty-contestants now. Instead, a bearded wizard supported a heavily bandaged man, and an earnest-looking young witch held a sleeping toddler in her arms. A prominent St Mungo's plaque at their feet reminded passersby that all funds from the fountain went to the hospital. "Still sentimental, but better." 

"Hermione! Severus!" Arthur had spotted them and came hurrying over. His face was more lined than it had been, and there was a lot more grey in the once-red hair, but he smiled when he saw them, and gave Hermione a quick hug. "I'm glad you could both make it." He offered Severus a hand. "I appreciate your coming," he said quietly. "This trial... it's going to be a real circus, I'm afraid." 

Hermione did not need Legilimency to see that Severus was mentally awarding his former ally points for not flinching at the sight of him as he shook Arthur's hand briefly. "I don't doubt it," he said quietly. "I am, however, at a loss as to why we were summoned. Surely there are a plethora of witnesses to Bellatrix's misdeeds..." 

"There are." Arthur grimaced unhappily. "But you are... well. There are some who think your own trial in absentia was... insufficient. And Bellatrix Lestrange is, I fear, quite amenable to the suggestion of incriminating you - and her nephew, as well - in exchange for a lighter sentence. Actually, I think she would have done it even if she hadn't been made an offer." 

Hermione reached out to take Severus' arm as unobtrusively as she could as he swayed a little, his face very pale. "I... see," he said grimly. "And since it was Hermione's evidence on my behalf that primarily secured my pardon..." 

"She's going to get dragged over the coals too," Arthur agreed unhappily. "Kingsley Shacklebolt arranged to have you both called as witnesses for the trial - we thought it would be better if you were here to accuse her, instead of her having a chance to blacken your characters in your absence." 

"Thank you," Hermione said, her lips tightening. "I'd rather face this than have it creep up on me." 

"As would I," Severus agreed, although he was still leaning just a little into her grip, letting her help him to stay upright. 

"I thought you would." Arthur nodded. "And... well, no offense, but your appearance is going to help you," he added, giving Severus a sympathetic look. "Very few people know how badly you were injured - you certainly can't be accused of falsifying your claims of being tortured." 

"I should think not," Severus agreed, taking a deep breath and straightening slowly. "Very well. Where is the hearing being held?" 

"Courtroom One." Arthur shook his head. "It's going to be public. A lot of people are here already... all the surviving members of the Order are coming, of course," he added encouragingly. "And Ginny said she was calling up Dumbledore's Army... they were your old schoolfriends, weren't they?" he asked Hermione. "So you won't be without supporters in the crowd, I promise you." 

"Thank you, Mr Weasley." Hermione had spent years learning to control, if not her emotions, then at least their visibility. She was reasonably sure that she looked calm and composed. Inside, she wanted very badly to be sick. This was going to be a nightmare - and a nightmare in front of an awful lot of witnesses.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

"Name?" 

"Severus Xenophon Snape." 

"Address?" 

"Number twenty-three, Spinner's End, Millcote." 

"Occupation?" 

"Invalid." 

There was a soft murmur at that, and he leaned back in his chair, resting his maimed left hand on the arm where it could clearly be seen. Hermione smiled inwardly. Severus Snape was, she had realized, a supremely gifted actor, as well as being a very twisty individual. He would never have conceded to weakness honestly, but as a means of manipulating the perceptions of others... 

Rufus Scrimgeour, who was presiding over the trial and questioning the witnesses, scowled. He hadn't been expecting this, Hermione was sure. He'd been prepared for the Severus Snape who had kept an entire generation of Hogwarts students trembling in their shoes; the wreck of a man who had had to be helped up to the witness's seat had caught him off-guard. 

Chained into her own chair, Bellatrix was staring at her former ally with unconcealed contempt, a small, sneering smile twisting her ravaged face. 

The witnesses - of whom there were only a few - were seated to one side of the dais on which the full Wizengamot were gathered, with chairs for prisoner and witness arranged before them. On the three other sides, rising tiers of seats were filled to overflowing with members of the Order, of Dumbledore's Army (even Draco Malfoy, sitting alone) and sundry members of the public who, for one reason or another, wanted to see the Last Death Eater tried and sentenced. 

Or, as it might be, the last Two. Because Arthur Weasley had been right... Bellatrix's initial questioning had led to a lot of mentions of Severus Snape's name, mostly in connection with his ongoing loyalty to Voldemort. 

Scrimgeour frowned. "You were a Death Eater in the service of He Who Must Not Be Named," he said sharply, glaring at Severus. "Do you deny this?" 

"Certainly not. That would be entirely futile." Severus stared back at him calmly, turning his head just slightly so that the purple scar snaking down the left side of his face caught the eye. 

"And you claim to have been a double agent?" Scrimgeour continued, frowning more heavily. "That you were secretly in service to Albus Dumbledore all along, spying on Voldemort for him, having joined the Death Eaters for that purpose?" 

Severus paused, then shook his head. "No," he said calmly. "I have never claimed that." He paused again, at the sudden surge of sound as every person in the huge room whispered frantically to his or her neighbour, and then spoke just as Scrimgeour opened his mouth again. "I was a spy for Albus Dumbledore for many years, but in the very beginning of my service to Lord Voldemort, I was genuinely loyal to him. Only after I had realized what I had become embroiled in, and how truly evil he was, did I go to Dumbledore to confess my sins. He chose to give me a chance to someday redeem myself." 

Again, Scrimgeour seemed pushed off-balance. He hadn't expected this. Hermione saw him glance over at a thin, dark witch at the far end of one of the benches the Wizengamot sat on. She had a small crystal ball between her hands, and as he glanced at her she nodded slightly. Truth spell, Hermione realized. It was one of the few practical uses for crystal balls... with the right spell, it would analyze the truth of anything the person holding it heard or saw. If a lie was heard, it would glow red. Scrimgeour had obviously been expecting a lie, at this point... and he hadn't gotten one. The ball was clear. 

"In your time of service with He Who Must Not Be Named, you were acquainted with Bellatrix Lestrange." It wasn't Scrimgeour who'd spoken, but a stout, elderly wizard sitting a couple of places to his left. "Is it your belief that she was truly loyal to him?" 

"She was truly obsessed with him," Severus said calmly, glancing at Bellatrix with a faint, contemptuous smile. "Her dearest wish was to serve him as a combination of most trusted advisor and concubine." 

The sudden murmur was louder this time, and Hermione thought she caught a few retching noises. Having seen Voldemort - briefly - in the flesh, she was somewhat inclined to retch herself. That was a truly _disgusting_ thought. It would fit with what she knew of Bellatrix, though. 

"Are you saying... she actually..." The elderly wizard looked positively green. 

"No. She wished to, but Lord Voldemort had no interest in... that particular activity. He never, to my knowledge, engaged in it." Severus looked rather amused. "Since Bellatrix rarely thought of anything else, however, she persisted in hoping." 

Scrimgeour's eyebrows went up. "I trust, Mr Snape, that this... allegation... about Bellatrix Lestrange's morals is not intended as some defensive tactic on her behalf. You see, we have heard rather a lot of testimony to the effect that she was an eager participant in the more violent crimes perpetrated by the Death Eaters - that it might be more accurate to describe violence and death as the only things she thinks about." 

"Not necessarily." An expression of pronounced distaste crossed the thin, scarred face. "For Bellatrix, the two activities are - closely linked in her mind, shall we say? She found murder and torment... stimulating." He looked over at Bellatrix, who was scowling now, and then looked away. "To put it more bluntly, Minister - the more she made people suffer, the more aroused she became. If her husband was not available, she would make advances to any other male in the vicinity. I imagine there are very few of my fellow Death Eaters who didn't at some point accept her offers." 

"Including you?" Scrimgeour asked swiftly. 

"Including me." The look of distaste deepened. "Something I regretted very much, later." 

"I can imagine." The elderly wizard looked at Bellatrix and shuddered. She looked even more mad than usual, and very much as if she wanted to tear Severus's face off with her teeth. 

Scrimgeour was scowling. Again, this was not going the way he'd planned - that implied discrediting of Bellatrix's testimony was now actual. Wizards tended toward the prudish. Bellatrix the Death Eater might believably implicate others - Bellatrix the whore would be dismissed out of hand. "Bellatrix Lestrange was, it is alleged, the motivating force behind the attack on Frank Longbottom and his wife Alice. Can you confirm that?" 

"Yes," Severus said, and although he sounded calm, he was definitely a little paler. Hermione checked her pocket for the Oxygenia potion, watching him anxiously. If this set him back... he'd been doing so well... "It was her idea, and she led the others in carrying it out." 

"But you were, at the time it occurred, supposedly at Hogwarts, a mournful penitent!" Scrimgeour snapped, a gleam of victory in his eye. "Dumbledore had already spoken for you before the Wizengamot! And yet you admit that you were still in contact with your fellow Death-Eaters at that time!" Well, that explained why he'd brought up the one crime Bellatrix had already been tried for... 

"I admit nothing of the sort." Severus quirked an eyebrow at the Minister, looking mildly amused. "I know because I was present when she told the Dark Lord... in proud, loving detail... exactly what she had done, to try to bring him back." 

Again the glance along the benches. Again, the crystal was clear. Scrimgeour gritted his teeth. He wasn't asking the right questions, and he obviously knew it. "Did you ever participate in the activities of the Death Eaters?" he demanded. 

"Yes. I have never denied it." 

"Were you, originally, loyal to Lord Voldemort?" 

"I have admitted that already." 

"You returned to him when he rose again, professing your continuing loyalty?" 

"At the request of Professor Dumbledore, yes." 

"You claimed to be a spy for He Who Must Not Be Named, and passed information about Hogwarts and Dumbledore himself?" 

"It was necessary for the continuation of my charade that I do so." 

Scrimgeour smiled a small, cruel smile. Having Snape, he supposed, where he wanted him, he struck in earnest. "Did you not, at your house, swear an Unbreakable Vow, with Bellatrix Lestrange as witness, to murder Albus Dumbledore?" 

The tide of shocked whispers rose again, and he waited them out. Only when silence had fallen did he answer. "Yes," he said quietly. "I did." 

Nobody could have been heard over the roar that rose up at those words. It took several minutes for Scrimgeour to restore order, minutes in which Hermione clutched her wand tightly, her heart pounding with sudden shock, and Severus sat quietly in the chair, his eye on his mangled hands. 

"You admit this?" Scrimgeour said triumphantly. "You plotted, months in advance, the murder of Albus Dumbledore?" 

"Not precisely." Severus lifted his head, and although he was visibly struggling to remain composed, his lips were tight with pain. "Bellatrix Lestrange came to my house that night in pursuit of her sister, Narcissa Malfoy. Narcissa came to me, in great distress, because her son had been ordered by the Dark Lord, on pain of death, to murder Professor Dumbledore. Neither she, nor the Dark Lord himself, believed that Draco would succeed. If he failed, he would be killed." His face softened, just a little. "Like all members of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, Narcissa is... less than completely sane. Unlike Bellatrix, however, she is not a sadist - and she adores her son. She pleaded with me to help him, to keep him safe." 

"Draco Malfoy was tried and pardoned," the elderly wizard said, frowning. "It was found that he had been threatened with his own death and that of his parents, if he did not obey orders. He said nothing at the time of you helping him. He claimed to have worked alone." 

"He refused my help," Severus agreed quietly. "He was afraid, and unsure who to trust. I could not blame him - there was, generally, little loyalty among the Death Eaters." 

"But you offered to help him?" Scrimgeour frowned. 

"Yes." Severus sighed, and seemed to droop a little. "I was... torn. Albus Dumbledore offered me forgiveness and a chance for redemption. He meant... a great deal to me. But Narcissa and I had been friends, of a sort, for many years, and I was fond of her son. Draco had, until then, trusted me." He looked up at the ceiling, taking a deep, slightly unsteady breath. "I swore the oath, as Narcissa requested. To do so served several purposes. It convinced Bellatrix, at least in part, of my true loyalty to the Dark Lord. It kept Narcissa from taking any other rash risks. And if I helped Draco, I could learn of his plans, and warn Dumbledore if necessary." 

"And if Draco failed, you were to perform the deed yourself." 

"Yes." Severus sighed. "I informed Dumbledore of the promise I had made, as soon as I returned to Hogwarts. He knew that he might have to kill me in order to save himself." 

Hermione beat Scrimgeour to looking at the crystal again. Clear. And Harry had dared not to trust him, when he'd been willing to sacrifice everything... 

"He knew?" The question came from a hitherto silent witch, an Indian woman with grey streaks in her black hair. "You told him what you had done? You were willing to risk death?" 

"Madam," Severus said quietly, and his previously even voice was unutterably weary. "I have faced the prospect of my own imminent death since I betrayed Lord Voldemort the first time, nearly twenty years ago. From my fellow Death Eaters, from the Aurors arrayed against them, from Lord Voldemort himself. I have lived a precarious double-life since I was twenty-two years old, unable to trust or be trusted by anyone on either side. By the time Narcissa came to me, I had no hope of surviving the coming conflict. The prospect of a painless and merciful death - and Dumbledore would have been merciful, as the others would not - had great appeal, by then." 

Hermione's eyes stung, and she ruthlessly bit back the tears. Crying over him would help nobody now. Scrimgeour looked stunned, and the members of the Wizengamot were whispering urgently to each other. She looked over at the public seats. Draco looked as if someone had kicked him in the stomach, and although she wasn't close enough to be sure, those pale eyes looked suspiciously bright. To his left and down, near the front, Harry was sitting, as pale as a sheet and his face immobile with shock. Beside him, Ginny was holding his hand tightly. 

The witch nodded slowly. "He Who Must Not Be Named was no more merciful to those who betrayed him than he was to those who defied him," she said softly. "The appeal of a painless death is... understandable." 

"But that's not how it worked out, is it?" Scrimgeour snapped, regaining some measure of composure. "You did kill him, didn't you?" 

"Yes." His voice was oddly dull, after that moment of intense emotion. "I killed him." 

"Why?" Scrimgeour rapped out. "If you had such pure motives, were so intent upon your own death... why did you instead murder him, as the Dark Lord had wished?" 

"Because he told me to," Severus said simply. "I didn't want to do it... he was my only ally, the only person who trusted me. Without him, I would be alone. But he begged me to do it, for Draco's sake, and I obeyed him." 

"Why would he do such a thing?" the elderly wizard asked, clearly disbelieving. 

"Because he had been poisoned," Severus said quietly. "I might, perhaps, have been able to save him, had there been a chance for me to do so. Nobody else had the skill, or the knowledge of the poisons the Dark Lord liked to use. He had hoped to reach me in time that I might help him, but the Death Eaters had already broken into the school." He spread his maimed hands in an oddly helpless gesture. "If I tried to protect him, if I broke an Unbreakable Vow... I would die. He would shortly follow. If I killed him, I, at least, would survive. I tried to refuse, but he convinced me that for one of us to die was better than both... and that if I allowed myself to die, then, that Draco would certainly suffer for it. He, alone of the three of us, had never killed, and could be considered in some measure to be innocent. To protect him, I obeyed Albus Dumbledore's last order." 

"You lie!" Scrimgeour shouted, in defiance of the stubbornly clear crystal and the startled murmurs around him. "There was a witness! Harry Potter was there, and saw it all! Dumbledore said nothing to you, told you no such thing, he pleaded for his life and you struck him down!" 

"Harry Potter," Severus said, cool contempt in his tone, "is even more pathetically inept at Legilimency than he is at Occlumency, and does not even recognize it when he sees it. I, on the other hand, am exceptionally good at both, as he is well aware. Dumbledore, too, used them well. We had no need to speak aloud." 

Hermione had no idea how she was managing to maintain her appearance of calm. Sheer shock, she suspected. Draco had his face buried in his hands. Harry looked stunned, and she recognized the expression he always got just as he realized he'd been monumentally stupid. Again. 

"You... expect us to believe that?" Scrimgeour said, but his certainty had weakened and he stared at Severus in furious disbelief. 

He turned his head to glance pointedly at the witch with the crystal ball, and then back at Scrimgeour. "If the truth spell the lady at the end of the row is using is not sufficient to convince you," he said quietly, "then consider this. You may not believe that I was, to the end, loyal to Albus Dumbledore." He stood, swaying a little as he dropped his cane and held up his scarred hands to indicate the ruin of his face. "But Lord Voldemort, as you can see, did. He was... most displeased." 

Then he collapsed, and Hermione was too far away to catch him. She reached his side a moment later, kneeling beside him and checking his pulse. It was going way too fast, but he was awake and trying to sit up, his face blank as it always was when he was in pain and didn't want it to show. "I'm all right," he muttered, pushing her hand away impatiently. "Don't need the potion, just...unsteady." 

Hermione saw a pair of knees settle on the floor on his other side, and looked up in surprise to see a pale, pointed face with reddened eyes. "Is he all right?" Draco asked, as the two of them got him sitting up again. 

"I'm fine. Just... tired." Severus gave him a sad, lopsided smile, that Draco returned, looking as if he wanted to cry again. 

"Miss Hermione Granger," said a smooth voice from above them. Rufus Scrimgeour had leaned over the barrier to look at them, and the defeat was gone from his voice. "Since you are apparently so eager to volunteer... take the witness's seat, please." 

Hermione scowled, opening her mouth to protest, but Draco intervened. "I'll help him," he said quietly, getting a hand under Severus' elbow and helping him to his feet. 

She nodded, a little reluctantly. After what had come out about him, Draco was entitled to a few moments with Severus. "Here." She pulled one of the small bottles of Oxygenia potion out of her pocket. "Give him this if his breathing gets bad." 

Draco nodded, and as he supported Severus over to sit with the other witnesses, she sat down in the hard chair, folding her hands in her lap and drawing her dignity around her. "If you wish, Minister," she said coolly, meeting his eyes with a look of disdain. "Shall we begin?"

* * *

Severus slumped into the more comfortable chair with a little gasp of relief. He was shaking with exhaustion, and he felt sick. He was dimly aware that Arthur was waving Draco into Hermione's empty seat, and shifting to sit beside him on the other side. He appreciated the support... especially from Draco, who at least knew now that he cared... but his attention remained focused on the Wizengamot and their witness. She was soberly dressed, looking a little drawn and remote as she always did now - it was effective, he thought, from the perspective of long practice at looking the right part. Chin up, she gazed with calm disdain at Scrimgeour as if daring him to do his worst. Hermione had never been one to let pomp and display impress or intimidate her, and she was intelligent enough to see Scrimgeour's rather obvious machinations for exactly what they were. He felt a hint of what might almost be pride in her. 

"Name?" 

"Hermione Granger." 

"Address?" 

"Number twenty-three, Spinner's End, Millcote." 

Scrimgeour leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. "You currently share a residence with the previous witness?" 

"Yes." 

"Why is that, Miss Granger?" 

"Because he is not, at this time, capable of caring for himself," she said matter-of-factly. "As a keen observer might have noted from his inability to get through an interrogation without collapsing." 

"I was under the impression that Mr Snape left St Mungo's Hospital several months ago," Scrimgeour said, his eyes narrowing slightly at her ever-so-slightly patronizing tone. "Are you implying that the healers there are so unskilled at their professions that they permitted a less-than-recovered patient to be released?" 

"I am implying, Minister, that they were not expecting a barely-ambulatory patient to simply get up and walk out of the hospital," Hermione countered, raising her eyebrows slightly. "Which he did. If you want the particulars of his case, I am sure that Healer Emendis can fill you in better than I can. He was one of the attending healers in the beginning, and has since come to the house twice to attend Mr Snape." She didn't stumble over the name, although it must have felt very odd to her. 

"And he did not, at that time, suggest that Mr Snape return to St Mungo's?" Scrimgeour asked, with an expression of feigned concern. 

"No, Minister. Although he was concerned, he admitted that there was little more he could do." She lifted her chin, and her voice took on a tone of gentle reproof. "Mr Snape will never fully recover from the injuries inflicted by Voldemort. Although, in time, he will probably be better than he is now, he will never be entirely well. I am gravely concerned about the strain on his health occasioned by his speaking at this trial, and I advised him not to attempt it." 

"And he didn't listen to you?" Scrimgeour asked, raising his eyebrows in slightly affected surprise. 

"He never has," Hermione said, and there was a trace of dry amusement in her tone now. "I am certain that anyone who studied Potions at Hogwarts in the last fifteen years will not be surprised to learn that he is no more tractable and good-natured as a patient than he is as a teacher." 

A quiet but definite ripple of giggling circled the room, and Severus smiled rather sourly. A slight bruise to his pride, perhaps, to be dismissed as a 'difficult patient', but a good tactical move on her part. It would nettle Scrimgeour while garnering the sympathy of the crowd... quite a few of whom had, in fact, studied Potions at Hogwarts in the last fifteen years, or looked old enough to have children who had. 

Scrimgeour looked just as sour, as he waited for the giggling to stop. "Might I ask, Miss Granger, why it is that you in particular are attendant upon Mr Snape? Did he send for you, and ask you to take up a position as his... nurse?" The pause before the last word was just brief enough to be accidental... but it wasn't. 

Hermione's expression remained calm and remote, and she ignored the pause entirely. "He did not. I discovered that he had left the hospital while still unwell, that his current whereabouts were generally unknown, and went looking for him to make sure he was all right." She shrugged slightly. "When I found him, and realized how ill he was, I couldn't just leave him. It wouldn't have been right." 

"A commendable charitable act," Scrimgeour said coolly. "But you have taken an ongoing interest in Mr Snape's wellbeing, have you not? You were, I believe, the key speaker at his trial-in-absentia shortly after the destruction of the Dark Lord." 

"Of course I was the key speaker, in quite a few trials that day," she said dryly. "I was the only witness who, at the time, was alive, not hospitalized, was fully conscious and able to speak, and was still possessed of all four limbs." 

Snape winced, and saw the Potter boy do the same. Quite a few others did as well... of those who had survived the final battle between Voldemort and Harry Potter, and their respective most loyal followers, none had done so unscathed. Hermione, with her nightmares and her scars that weren't on display, had escaped relatively lightly. 

"Of course, of course," the stout, elderly wizard said uncomfortably. "You are to be commended, Miss Granger, on your fortitude in attending so soon after... well." 

"Thank you," she said, her expression still not changing. 

"Of course, your courage was very impressive," Scrimgeour agreed a little reluctantly. "However... you must see, Miss Granger, that to so ardently defend Mr Snape, and some months later to take up residence in his house..." He trailed off, giving her a sorrowful look. 

If he had had the strength, there would have been no amount of self-control sufficient to keep Severus Snape from casting the most vicious curse he could think of at that fraudulently sorrowful expression. Beside him, Arthur was spluttering incoherently. On his other side, Draco's mouth had fallen open in shock. How dared he, how DARED he sit there and imply something so vile, if Severus could have trusted his legs to hold him up he would have gone for the man's oily throat... 

Hermione paused, as if not quite believing what she had just heard. Then she drew herself up, looking Scrimgeour squarely in the eye. "Minister," she said, in an icy voice that would have done Minerva McGonagall proud, "what, exactly, are you implying?" 

"Yes," the Indian witch agreed, her voice no less frosty. "What ARE you implying, Minister?" 

Scrimgeour assumed an air of kindly, fatherly concern. "I am implying, I suppose, that Miss Granger is very young," he said, his tone artfully tinged with sadness. "And that she may, through no fault of her own, have been... led astray. Perhaps even before leaving school, she-" 

It was entirely possible that Hermione would have responded with another few words of icy disdain. Arthur Weasley was certainly trying to answer, even though the witch on his other side was trying to shush him. And Severus Snape was so angry that he probably would have said something very, very unwise. 

None of them had the chance, however, as at least fifty people in the audience had gone into hysterics, the roar of laughter drowning out any other sound. Draco was laughing so hard he almost fell off his chair. Neville Longbottom had his head down on the back of the seat in front of him, his shoulders shaking. Pansy Parkinson's distinctive and unmusical shrieks of laughter were clearly audible. Remus Lupin was doing a very creditable impression of a goldfish while his pink-haired paramour laughed herself almost sick. And Harry Potter himself was clearly torn between outrage and giggles, and the giggles were winning. 

Scrimgeour looked around, startled and clearly angry at the outburst which very clearly signalled the death-pangs of that particular tactic. Hermione smiled a tiny, wintery smile. "I believe," she said dryly, as the laughter faded into isolated wheezes and giggles, "that everyone who knew either of us at school has just given you their opinion of how likely that is." 

"Indeed," Scrimgeour said tightly. "How very... fortunate." 

"Highly inappropriate!" the elderly wizard muttered, looking scandalized. "Bringing the young lady's reputation into question, really, Minister!" 

"I agree entirely," Hermione said coolly. "Allow me to clarify, Minister Scrimgeour, in case the gales of hysterical laughter did not make this point clear enough to you. I was on particularly bad terms with our former Potions Master, when I was at school. He considered me to be a showoff, a member of Harry Potter's little gang of juvenile delinquents, and an insufferable know-it-all, and he was not hesitant to make his opinion known in public. I, for my part, considered him to be hypocritical, unjust, and unable to behave like a civilized human being, and I was no quieter about it than he was. So no, Minister, I do not think you will find any takers on your disgusting and slanderous theory that he seduced me into speaking in his defence!" 

Scrimgeour blinked. "Miss Granger, if you cannot control yourself-" he began testily, and then he faltered and winced. Severus suspected that the perky-looking witch sitting behind him and to the left had kicked him... she had a very vindictive look on her face. 

Hermione rose to her feet, her dark eyes bright with anger. "I am perfectly in control of myself, Minister," she said icily. "If I were not in control of myself, I assure you, the damaging accusations I might make would be just as disgusting... but much less slanderous." She glanced significantly at the Potter boy, and Severus noted with interest that Scrimgeour had gone slightly pale. "This has gone far enough. In case you have forgotten, Minister Scrimgeour, neither I nor Severus Snape is on trial today. I suggest you return your attention to the dangerous criminal sitting over there," she pointed at Bellatrix Lestrange, who had been sitting silently, her eyes wide with surprise, "and cease your attempts to make yourself look clever before they scuttle your career entirely. Good day, Minister." She turned, her robes swirling around her, and stalked over to the seats where the witnesses had been sitting. Draco, still chuckling softly, anticipated her, helping Severus to his feet. The two of them helped him out of the courtroom, as the majority of the audience applauded.

* * *

"How is he?" 

Hermione closed the bedroom door, sighing a little. "He's asleep," she said softly. "It was... very hard on him." 

Percy nodded. He looked much as he always had, except for the thin scar that crossed his forehead to bisect his eyebrow, stopping just short of the eye itself. It was only when he walked, and you saw his limp and heard the soft clunk of a wooden leg, that you knew. "Dad sent me a quick owl while you were on your way here," he said quietly, pouring a cup of tea and offering it to her. "To let me know what happened at the trial. I would have gone, but... well." He gave her an unhappy smile. "I couldn't make it to the office at all today. My leg gives me some trouble, in this weather." 

"I understand, believe me." Hermione accepted the tea, sitting down in the small armchair opposite his. "There are days when Severus can hardly make it down the stairs." 

He raised an eyebrow at the use of the given name, but let it pass. "I'm very sorry you had to go through that, Hermione," he said gravely. "I am apalled that Minister Scrimgeour would ever say such things... let alone in public." 

"It's all right, Percy," she said, smiling fondly at him. He was still a little stuffy, at times, but he'd always been kind-hearted underneath it. "Really. I expected someone to make the implication... although I admit, I didn't think it would be him." 

"I certainly would NOT have expected anyone to make such a... a crass and tasteless assumption," Percy said rather heatedly. "You're only eighteen! I know you're hardly a child anymore, after everything you've been through, but still! To make such... such crude insinuations about a girl your age, to damage your reputation in such a way..." 

Hermione laughed suddenly, reaching over to pat his hand fondly as he gave her a startled look. "I'm sorry, Percy... I do appreciate your concern on my behalf, I really do," she said, still giggling. "But the wizarding world is so dreadfully old-fashioned... the idea that anyone would actually care about my reputation just seems so silly." 

He blushed a little, but gave her an anxious look. "But people _will_ care, Hermione. Perhaps it is old-fashioned, but it's still very real." 

"I know. And it's positively medieval, honestly." She shook her head. "Not to mention bloody implausible. You saw how weak he is... and he's improved a lot, the last few months." 

Percy grinned suddenly. "It is awfully difficult to imagine him managing anything forward, in his condition," he agreed. "And... well, he was always pretty terrifying, but I can't imagine him ever actually putting his hands on anyone without permission... or at all, actually," he said, making a small face. "I mean, I know teachers are people, and that the robes must theoretically come off at some point, but one doesn't really ever think about it." 

"I know I never did," Hermione agreed. "His do, though," she added teasingly, and then laughed at his suddenly scandalized expression. "I've had to wake him up from a few nightmares," she explained. "He favours long and voluminuous nightshirts." 

"Oh. Of course." Percy was a bit pink again. Clearly his prim heart found the idea of her even being in a man's room at night to be rather shocking. "I must say, I was very glad to hear that you were taking care of him... He doesn't have any family, I believe, and in his condition, someone does need to be there." 

"No family living, no," Hermione said softly. "And he resists being looked after quite strenuously, but he does need it. It's not just the physical injuries, you understand. After what he's been through... his state of mind isn't good, either. Not that it ever was." 

"No, it wasn't really, was it?" Percy agreed, gazing meditatively into the tiny fire. "One can't imagine him being happy, really. Or even content. He was always so... bitter, at school. As if he hated the whole world." He gave her a thoughtful look. "Or himself." 

"Both, I think." She was a little surprised at his perceptiveness - like Neville, it was new to Percy. But he'd changed a lot... losing his leg, and his brother, and for a long time his whole family, had all played their part. Being able to finally admit that he'd been spying for Dumbledore all along, his most secret and most useful spy in the ministry, had helped a great deal. "We all have a lot in common," she said, just realizing it herself as she turned her teacup thoughtfully around and around. 

"Oh?" Percy raised the scar-split eyebrow. "How so?" 

"We're all very, very intelligent," she said quietly. "And no good with people, and not exactly raving beauties." She smiled wryly. "No offense." 

"None taken," Percy said softly. "It's not news to me, believe me." 

"And... I think it made all three of us unhappy," she continued, staring into the small fire. "I was so miserable, before Harry and Ron and I got to be friends. Nobody liked me. Nobody was ever going to, I thought." 

Percy nodded. "So was I," he admitted. "It's not... easy, knowing that most of your family just put up with you. And I didn't really have many friends at Hogwarts, either. I just... studied. Worked." His face softened a little. "There was Penny, for a while. It didn't last, but... it meant a lot. Knowing that there _could_ be someone who cared." 

Hermione nodded. "And I had Ron and Harry," she said softly. "That helped. I didn't really have any other friends for a long time, but... it did help." She glanced at the closed door. "I don't think he had either," she said softly. "Or a family to fall back on, like we did... his parents died when he was quite young, and I've gotten a vague impression that they were never on good terms. So he just got more lonely, and more bitter, until just killing everyone and not caring about anything started to seem like a really good idea." 

Percy nodded, sipping his tea. "Well, now I know what he and I have in common," he said, giving her a small smile. "I'm not sure where you come in, though." 

She blinked at him in surprise. "... what?" 

"Oh, I'll concede that there was something there when you were eleven," he admitted. "You were a very bossy, plain child, as I recall. But you're very, very good with people these days... there aren't many who could have worked out as much as you have about him, or gotten him to accept even as much care as he has." He grinned suddenly. "And I hate to be the one to break this to you, Hermione, but you're very pretty." 

She stared at him. "... what?" she repeated, feeling suddenly very bewildered. 

Percy lifted his wand. "_Accio_ mirror!" A small mirror unhooked itself from the wall, and drifted lightly into his hands. "Hermione, I want you to look at yourself," he said gently. "Really look." He lifted the mirror, tilting it towards her a little. 

Hermione looked. She didn't especially like mirrors, and rarely looked into one for longer than it took to see that yes, this was another bad hair day. This time, though, she really looked, as Percy had requested. 

Hair - moderately well-confined, this time, and the little curls escaping to frame her face actually looked rather nice. Skin - quite good, she supposed, she'd never had any of the usual adolescent problems with it. Eyes - large and dark, with long lashes. Nose - short and straight, her nice nose had always been a comfort to her. Mouth - all right, now that her teeth were the right size for it. 

She stared at the mirror for a moment more, then lifted her eyes to meet Percy's amused gaze. "When did that happen?" she asked in a small voice. When you've always believed that you're plain, finding out that you are, at least, moderately attractive comes as a shock. 

"When you were about fifteen," he said, sending the mirror back to its place with a tap of his wand. "You sort of grew into yourself, around then." 

"Oh." She blinked some more, and then she grinned suddenly. "You know, Minister Scrimgeour's apparent belief that someone would _want_ to seduce me kind of makes more sense now." 

"Oh, I'm sure quite a few people have wanted to seduce you," he said, returning her smile. "The lure of the unattainable, you know... there you were, with two very persistent bodyguards and apparently no interest whatsoever in having boys make fools of themselves for your benefit." 

"I was unattainable?" Hermione beamed. "Really?" That was a much better explanation for the severe boy-shortage in her school years than the one she'd always assumed was correct - that she simply wasn't particularly attractive. 

"Oh, yes." He smiled affectionately at her. "And you had absolutely no idea." 

"My goodness. I really didn't." She gave him a reproachful look. "And you didn't tell me!" 

Percy raised an eyebrow. "When did you work out that I preferred boys to girls?" he asked mildly. 

She blushed. "Well... I had my suspicions in fourth year," she admitted. "Why?" 

"You didn't tell ME, either." Percy blushed too, giving her a sheepish little grin. "It took me a bit longer to work it out. I still haven't told Mum and Dad." 

"You should. They're so glad to have you back now that they'll be fine with absolutely anything you do." She leaned back in her chair. "And... thank you. For telling me, since I'm obviously a bit dim when it comes to myself." 

"We all are." He reached over to pat her hand gently. "And... I'm sorry again, about today," he said quietly. "The Ministry should be better than that. I know it isn't, but it _should_ be. I've always believed that, that's why I wanted to work there, to make things better." 

Hermione nodded. "It should." She shook her head. "If I wasn't busy, I'd definitely be joining and getting started on working my way up to Minister for Magic so I could really make some changes. Their policies on non-human sentient beings alone..." 

Percy laughed. "The terrifying thing is, I really think you could do it," he said, giving her an amused look. "When you do make Minister for Magic, may I take charge of the Department of International Magical Cooperation? I was just starting to get the hang of things when Mr Crouch turned out to have been cursed." 

She giggled. "Very well. International Magical Cooperation is yours." She pondered thoughtfully. "I think I'll revamp the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures into something less totally bigoted and offensive, and put Remus in charge." 

Percy looked torn between outrage and a snickering fit. "Hermione, you wouldn't dare!" 

"I most certainly would," she said, grinning back at him. "I may have given up on S.P.E.W., Percy, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let people - whatever species they happen to be - get pushed around. I loathe bullies, and right now, that's what the Ministry is largely composed of." She shook her head. "And really, that has to stop."

* * *

** I know I didn't show much of Bellatrix's trial - but the parts with Hermione and Severus were all I was really interested in. The results of the trial in the next chapter! **


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

Severus was groggy when he woke up, and it took him a moment to remember what had happened. When it came back, he swallowed hard as his painfully empty stomach tried to rebel yet again. Nausea had overwhelmed him after the trial, and as humiliating as it had been, he was glad Draco had been there to help him to the suitable facilities. As painful as the trial had been, however, he felt a faint but persistent relief. So might someone with a hideously infected wound feel as it was drained... left closed, the filth and poison it concealed could be hidden, but only when it was revealed to the world could it be healed. 

He scowled. That last thought had been positively maudlin. He opened his eye, determined not to keep indulging in pus-focused melodramatics. 

It was almost dawn, he saw, glancing over at the tiny window. The sky was a greyish auzure, too dim for the sun to be up yet, but hinting at its approach. He turned his head to look the other way, and blinked in surprise. Hermione was curled up in a large chair beside him, her feet tucked under her and her hair down, twiddling a curl between her fingers as she gazed at the window. His movement seemed to draw his attention and she looked down at him. "Good morning," she said quietly. "How are you feeling?" 

"I'll live," he said wryly, making no effort to sound pleased about it. "How are you?" 

"The same, more or less." She took a deep breath, blowing out a weary little sigh. "Yesterday was... I'd say 'emotionally draining', but that would be wasting a perfectly good excuse use 'nightmarish'." 

He nodded. "I would have suggested 'painful and demeaning', but your word choices are also acceptable," he conceded, watching her carefully. She'd seemed the same as ever, when she'd brought him back to Percy Weasley's flat and his spare bedroom, helping him out of his outer robes and into the small bed. But she'd had time to think things over now - although he was sure her conjectures had been reasonably accurate before, she'd never asked him what had really happened that night, and he'd never told her. Would she think more of him? Less? 

"Yours are pretty good, too." She gave him a tired smile, and he couldn't detect any difference in her manner. "Do you want to know what happened, or would you rather wait until after you've had some tea?" 

He considered. On the one hand, he wanted to hear the worst at once. On the other... if she went to fetch tea, it would give him time to collect himself a little more. It was insidiously pleasant, exchanging murmurs in the dim room, the conversation unnervingly honest and almost intimate. "Tea first, I believe," he said, making a rather sour face. 

"That sounds wise to me," she agreed, uncurling her legs and wincing a bit as she stood up. She'd been sitting by his bedside long enough to grow tired and stiff, he realized with some surprise. "I'll be back in a few minutes. And don't try to get out of bed - you haven't eaten for more than twenty-four hours. Your knees won't hold." 

He glared after her as she left the room. "Bossy little brat," he muttered very quietly. She was entirely correct, of course, but he didn't care to have it pointed out to him. Only the knowledge that having her help him back into bed would be even less dignified kept him from defying her on principle. Still... as foolish and sentimental as it doubtless was, her vigil at his bedside as he slept was certainly a hopeful sign. It meant, surely, that she didn't hate him. That she wasn't planning to leave. 

The pillows went everywhere as he sat bolt upright, realizing what he'd just thought. 

He didn't want Hermione to leave. Far from being angry at how long he was taking to get well enough to throw her out on her backside, he was almost glad that he was recovering slowly, because it meant that she would be with him for longer. Why in the name of Merlin had his feelings on the matter changed so utterly? 

Oh, god. He hadn't done anything sloppily sentimental, had he? The strain of yesterday and her admitted kindness in caring for him hadn't induced some sort of pitiful infatuation, had it? If it had, he was going straight back to St Mungo's. To the Fourth Floor. There was a lovely Resident's Ward he could rest in until he recovered from losing his mind. 

He examined his own emotions anxiously. Could he live without her? Certainly. Did he long to spend every moment of his time with her? Not particularly. Did he desire to spout treacly poetry on the subject of her assorted body parts? Definitely not. Did the image of her with another man fill him with rage and/or despair? He conjured up a suitable mental image, using Percy Weasley as a handy fill-in. No, no murderous impulses. 

Gathering up his pillows, he leaned back against them, brow furrowed in thought. So far as he could determine, he showed no especial signs of infatuation. He'd spent enough time around hormone-controlled teenagers to recognize them when he saw them. So why, then, did the thought of her going away make him so uncomfortable? Why was Hermione Granger alone so suddenly important to him? What unique thing did she offer that no-one else did? After a moment of concentrated thought, it came to him. 

Companionship. 

Hermione was intelligent, articulate, and thanks in part to him, well-educated. She could converse coherently on a number of subjects, and it wasn't necessary for him to oversimplify his conversation in order for her to understand it. They shared many interests, upon which they could both discourse with reasonable eloquence. She didn't object to his foul temper, and he rather enjoyed the very rare occasions on which she got temperamental herself - he found the resultant fights quite enjoyable. They worked well together, on those days when he was well enough to join her in the laboratory. He appreciated her rather dry sense of humour, though he rarely admitted it, and... he trusted her. 

That last surprised him a little, and yet it was true. Hermione's judgement was usually sound, and her work consistent. She was honest, ethical, and one of the most fundamentally _good_ people he had ever met - although he didn't share the traits, he admired them in others. And Hermione had enough of a subtle, sneaky streak to balance them out and keep her from becoming annoying. 

In short... he had a friend. A companion. Someone to share things with and talk to and spend time with. He'd never really had such a friendship before, and the thought of losing it, or having her go away, was quite distressing. So. Although he had not succumbed to sentimental weakness entirely and developed... horrifying thought... some kind of adolescent crush on the girl, he had to concede that he wanted her to stay around. 

He therefore had some serious planning to do. He would have to come up with a way to reverse his earlier position on her presence without appearing to capitulate or get sentimental about it. Hermione had never been as easily manipulated as most Gryffindors, either... he would have to be particularly cautious not to alert her to his intentions. 

Having placed the situation in a context he was comfortable with, he relaxed again, just as Hermione slipped through the door again, with a tea-tray bobbing along behind her like an obedient pet. Just in time... she had a disturbing tendency to know when something was bothering him, and he had no intention of having her pestering him. Not that she ever did pester, he had to admit - actually, she'd barely asked a single question since she came to Spinner's End, most perplexing... 

"Mr Weasley sent an owl last night, after you fell asleep," she told him, handing him a cup of tea with lemon. "The trial wound up fairly quickly after we left. For some strange reason, Minister Scrimgeour lost his taste for grandstanding after we'd made our appearance." 

"Probably because we made him look a complete fool," Severus said dryly, sipping his tea. "Your performance was admirable." 

"Yours was good, too." She smiled ruefully and sipped her own tea. "You would have made a marvellous actor." She shook her head, pushing her untidy curls back from her face with an absent hand. "Bellatrix was sentenced as soon as the less-interesting witnesses had had their say - and even on the subject of Bellatrix, imagine that." 

"A most unusual event, for a show-trial like that one," Severus agreed, his expression as sour as hers. "Did Arthur tell you what sentence was given?" 

"She was found guilty of multiple murders, torture, spying, and, at the last moment, High Treason." Hermione looked down into her cup. "Since the Dementors are no longer available to suck people's souls out, Scrimgeour had to settle for the only crime he can still behead people for." 

Severus swallowed hard and nodded slowly. That... came as a shock. It wasn't the wizarding way to hand out death-sentences... to destroy souls, shatter memories, and the like, yes, but usually they were too squeamish for real killing. "When?" he asked quietly. 

"At noon. It won't be a public event, but anyone she's wronged has the right to see her sentence carried out." She stirred her tea, her face introspective. "Neville's going. He said he won't believe she's really dead until he sees it with his own eyes." 

"I suppose I can see why," Severus sipped his tea again, hoping it would un-knot his stomach a little. "Do you intend to go?" 

Hermione shook her head. "Only if you want to," she said quietly. "I wouldn't let you go alone, of course, but... well. It's not something I especially want to see. I've seen enough death." 

"As have I. No, I have no desire to observe." He leaned back against his pillows, looking down absently at his hands. 

Bolt upright again, two pillows sliding to the floor and his tea almost spilling as he realized, for the first time, that he was wearing a pale grey nightshirt with blue stripes - not one of his, not nearly so voluminous - and, he realized, shifting a leg cautiously, significantly shorter. "What on earth..." He stared at her in shock. "Did you...?" He trailed off, quite unable to say it aloud. 

She went faintly pink. "It's Percy's," she explained. "I didn't want you to have to sleep in your clothes, so I used a Switching Spell to exchange it with your robes. And I closed my eyes," she added, going a little pinker. 

Severus realized he was blushing a little himself. "Well... good," he said rather lamely. He was glad that she hadn't peeked - few would have resisted the temptation, but she seemed to understand how much it bothered him to be exposed in any way. Still, the moment of trivial embarrassment had helped to break the tension a little. She tucked his pillows behind him again with a flick of her wand, and he leaned back with a little sigh. He was very tired, still, probably due to the lack of food. 

She sipped her tea, not speaking again until both blushes had faded. "While we're in London, I should go to Diagon Alley," she said thoughtfully. "We're shockingly low on supplies - the Apothecary opens quite early. I'll go there, and maybe to Flourish and Blott's as well. Do you need anything?" 

He shook his head. "Nothing at the moment." He could, perhaps, have afforded a page or two, but not an entire book. Not that he intended to admit that to her. 

She nodded. "I won't be more than two hours or so, and then we'll go home," she said decidedly. "Percy will be here, if you need anything or if you get bored." 

"I am perfectly capable of fending for myself for a few hours," he said indignantly. "I do not need a nursmaid!" 

"Of course not," she said soothingly. "But you do get bored when you've got nothing to do. I'm sure Percy would be happy to lend you a book... or he plays chess, significantly better than I do." She smiled ruefully. They'd played a few times - she was an average player at best. Her tendency to think there was a One Right Way to do things tended to block her perception of other options. 

"He could hardly be much worse," Severus said, but without any particular acidity in his tone. She wasn't bad, exactly... just clumsy and unpracticed. He was sure she would improve. In the meantime, however, a more challenging game or two would be pleasant - and he'd always liked Percy Weasley as much as he'd liked most of his students. The boy had worked hard, obeyed the rules, and was extremely safety-conscious. These were also traits that he appreciated. 

"Good. I'll let him know you're ready to honour him with a trouncing." Hermione smiled. "In the meantime... you must be starving, and I know I am. I'll go start breakfast."

* * *

Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes was even busier now than it had been during the war. It took Hermione a few minutes to fight her way through to where Fred was extolling the virtues of a new product line - nightcaps that would give a sleeper a different good dream every night for a week, then alternate between the seven at random until the charm wore off. "Fred?" He didn't hear her, and she smiled, leaning over to poke him. "FRED!" 

"What?" He looked around, then beamed. "Hermione!" Hastily waving at a pretty blonde witch in bright magenta robes to take over, he hustled her into the quieter back room. "Hermione, what are you doing here? I mean, it's great to see you and everything... GEORGE!" he shouted up the stairs at the back of the room. "GET DOWN HERE!" 

George - slightly mussed, Hermione noticed with some amusement - sprinted down the stairs, with a very pretty brunette witch on his heels. "Fred, what's the... Hermione!" He beamed, giving her a quick hug. "It's great to see you!" 

Hermione looked at the other witch, who blushed and hurried into the front of the shop. "Do you have a red-haired one around somewhere as well, to make up the set?" she asked rather dryly. 

"Nah. Too much like snogging a family member," George said cheerfully. "So why are you here?" 

"Doesn't it occur to either of you that I might just want to see you? To see how you're getting on?" She gave them a mock-reproachful look. 

They looked at each other. "No," they said in unison. 

Fred explained. "We were at the trial yesterday, don't know if you saw us. So, you know, we figure it's sort of unlikely that you're going to be making purely social calls today." 

"There is that." Hermione nodded, and gave them a slightly suspicious look. "And you're not going to have fits about my current choice of companions?" 

"Nah." George shook his head. "Look, we never liked him, and we admit we gave him plenty of reasons to loathe us. But the way we see it... he's a miserable git, but if he didn't murder US when he had the chance, he can't be completely evil." 

"And we did hear what he said yesterday," Fred agreed. "And get a good look at him. We had no idea he'd been messed up so badly." 

"And we weren't surprised you were the one to go and find him and look after him," George finished, smiling down at her. "You always stuck up for the old bat, and you're always trying to help people, even when they don't want you to, like the house-elves." 

"How did everyone get so damn perceptive?" Hermione asked, smiling back. "I mean, Neville, Percy... now you two. Next I'll be finding out that you're going around being considerate of others." 

"Who us?" Fred asked, looking shocked. "Never!" 

"So why are you here?" George asked curiously. 

Hermione blushed a little. She didn't want to do this... she REALLY didn't want to do this... but she'd given it a lot of thought and the twins were really the only people she could ask, given assorted contributing factors. "I wanted to ask you for a favour," she admitted. "It's... kind of a big one." 

"Of course." 

"Just name it." 

She winced. "I need to borrow some money," she admitted in a small voice. 

They both stared at her. Whatever they'd been expecting, it wasn't this. Fred found his voice first, frowning a little. "Not a problem - we're doing really well, lately, we can give you whatever you need. But... Hermione, why do you need to borrow money?" 

She gave him a half-embarrassed, half-exasperated look. "Because I don't _have_ any, Fred." 

"What... not any?" She shook her head mutely, and George frowned. "But... look, if you need a job or something, we could-" 

"I have plenty of job-offers lying around. That's not the problem." She sighed. "You were there yesterday, you know why I can't take any of them right now." 

"Because of Snape, I guess... but then why isn't _he_-" 

"Because he doesn't have any either," Hermione snapped. "He doesn't have a job anymore, remember? Even if he did, he's not well enough to actually do it. And he doesn't have a family or an inheritance to fall back on... as far as I've been able to determine without asking, because he'd have a fit if I did, all he has in the world right now is a lot of books and a rather manky little house in a tiny town where hardly anybody lives." She scowled, not knowing how fiercely protective she sounded. "And me and Winky, of course." 

The twins exchanged looks. "Blimey," Fred said quietly. "Look, we'll lend you whatever you need, Hermione - no worries about paying us back, either, whenever you can manage it is fine. Couple of hundred Galleons be enough for now? We're a bit tied up in stock at the moment, but it's moving fast..." 

"More than enough!" Hermione said hastily. "Fifty is plenty, really... all I really need is Potions ingredients. It's not safe to use magic to create those." 

"Make it a hundred, just in case." George reached over to pat her shoulder gently. "You're doing a good thing, Hermione. A little stupid, but good. If there's anything else we can do to help, let us know, okay?" 

"I will." She sighed. "And... uhm... please don't tell anyone?" 

"'course not." 

"Your secret is safe with us." Fred grinned at her. "And we'll even throw in a SweetDreams Cap. See if you can get the old git to wear it." 

"Of course, I'm not sure he'd qualify frolicking mermaids, unicorns, and damsels in distress as _good_ dreams," George added brightly. "He might be ill."

* * *

The current Apothecary of Diagon Alley was almost always in the shop which shared his name. He had several lesser minions to attend to actual customers, of course, but unusual requests could be brought to him in the small room at the back of the shop where he tended and prepared the rarest, most difficult ingredients. 

Hermione smoothed her robes nervously, checking her hair for escaping curls. One or two, but she still looked tidy. Good. She approached the Apothecary's room, tapping very quietly on the door. Oh, maybe he wasn't in, she could come back later- 

The door popped open, and a small, withered-looking man with greying hair and bright grey eyes looked at her piercingly. "Ah. Miss Granger," he said thoughtfully. She must have jumped a little at the mention of her name, because he smiled very slightly. "Two of my assistants attended the trial yesterday. Your picture was in today's Daily Prophet, and your name keeps coming up in conversation. Come in." 

She slipped into the room, blushing. This was NOT how she'd wanted to start this conversation. "I... yes." She twisted her fingers together nervously. "I suppose, then, that you are aware of my... situation. Tending an invalid who cannot be left alone for any length of time rather... limits one's possibilities of gainful employment." 

The Apothecary raised an eyebrow at her. "Indeed it does," he said dryly. "Is there some reason why you wish me to know this?" 

"Yes." She took a deep breath. "You sell potions, as well as ingredients," she said slowly. "And I know you don't make them all yourself - there are three different maker's marks on the bottles out there, only one being the one belonging to this shop. I would like the opportunity to make it four." 

"I see." He looked surprised, but not entirely displeased. "Miss Granger, I am aware that you are currently residing with one of the more brilliant Potions Masters currently living, but I was under the impression that he was too unwell to work." 

"He is. I'm offering on my own behalf." She fished in her pocket, bringing out three small bottles and two tiny jars. "I appreciate that you only accept the most perfect and reliable of stock. You have a very good reputation to maintain. But please, before you say no, at least look at what I can do?" 

He inspected her closely with those bright eyes, and then nodded. "I will do so," he conceded, and she relaxed just a little. "You are, by all accounts, an extremely courageous and principled young woman. I will trust that you are not wasting my time." 

"Thank you, sir." Hermione folded her hands to keep them from twitching nervously, as he turned away from her, going back to a workbench covered with odd artefacts and devices. She'd given him her very best... the mild sleeping potion she'd devised herself, that brought peaceful sleep without leaving the sleeper muzzy or keeping them from waking up if they needed to, along with the healing salve she'd improved and the Oxygenia potion that she knew she brewed well. Just so he'd know she could do non-healing potions, she'd also included an antidote that would work on most common poisons (broad-spectrum antidotes were much, MUCH more difficult than specific ones), and an Ointment of True Sight that was almost impossible to make exactly right. 

He took his time, examining each potion or salve with careful attention. First by sight, then by smell... he tasted the Oxygenia and the antidote, just a drop, and examined all five under an odd device that looked like a large blue magnifying glass. 

After some time, and several more tests, he made a quiet, satisfied noise. "I am impressed, Miss Granger," he said, giving her a thoughtful look. "You obviously take great care with your work." He jerked his head at another workbench, this one set up with a very small cauldron and an enormous range of ingredients. "Open the book to page eighty-one, and make the potion described therein." 

Hermione nodded. "Yes, sir," she said hopefully. He hadn't thrown her out, that was something. A muttered spell wrapped the loose sleeves of her robes tightly around her wrists, so they wouldn't knock anything over. She flipped the book open and... yes! A potion of Invisibility, one she'd learned in her seventh year. It didn't take long to make, which was presumably why he'd selected it, but it was infernally delicate - it wasn't enough to get the ingredients right, you had to time everything perfectly too. Even the slightest mistake, and... well. 

Forty minutes later, her back and shoulders screaming with tension, she banished the magical blue fire below the tiny cauldron with a sigh of relief. The potion was perfect - it looked almost like greenish water, glittering faintly. "There," she said softly, and then coughed a little as she realized how dry her mouth was. 

"An exemplary performance," the Apothecary observed, offering her a cup which she accepted gratefully. Water flavoured with orange juice, she discovered, draining the cup. "I do not sell poisons, nor the more dangerous sleeping potions. I would, however, be willing to carry the potion you showed me... it is much less forceful than most, and would, I judge, be difficult to harm oneself with." 

"It's supposed to be," Hermione agreed. "It's so easy to take too much of some of the others - and when you're caring for someone whose state of mind is... unpredictable, it's not wise to keep anything dangerous within his reach." 

"A very valid point." The Apothecary nodded. "Very well, Miss Granger. If you wish to create potions for sale, I will sell them. You will, of course, be expected to send samples of each new potion before I agree to offer it, and you are expected to test each batch before sending it to me for distribution." 

Hermione couldn't quite believe her ears. She'd hoped, she knew she was good, but... the Apothecary hadn't approved a new distributor in nearly twenty years! "I... thank you!" she blurted, beaming. "I will! I'll get started at once! I have a laboratory at the house that I can use, very well-appointed... I'll send samples to you as soon as I can get them done!" 

He inclined his head, smiling a little. "I shall look forward to it. It is always... interesting... to work with someone new."

* * *

"Winky, we're home!" Hermione called cheerfully as she let go of Severus, dropping several parcels in the process. He gave her an odd look, which she ignored. She knew he was wondering why she'd been so much more cheerful since her trip to Diagon Alley... but she wasn't going to tell him. He could just use those years of experience to ferret out what she was up to. It would be more fun for him that way, and something of a challenge for her to see how long she could keep the secret. 

"Welcome!" Winky popped into existence in the middle of the room, beaming. "Winky is having your lunch ready in moments!" She gave Severus a long, critical look. "Master Snape is looking peaky," she added, giving Hermione a reproachful look. 

"The trial was hard on him," Hermione explained, piling up the rest of her purchases on the long sofa in the small sitting-room. "But he had a nice long sleep last night, and a nice breakfast and a couple of games of chess this morning. I went shopping," she added, a bit unnecessarily. "Most of these need to go in the laboratory - I had to replace a lot of things - but the little one from Flourish and Blotts goes to Severus's room, and the bigger one to mine. And I got something for you, too, Winky." She dug out the small, odd-shaped parcel, and held it out. 

Winky gave it a suspicious look, but accepted it, peeking inside the wrapping. Then she beamed. "What is it?" she asked, pulling the shiny metal object out and examining it rapturously. 

"It's a garlic press," Hermione said brightly. "You see, you put the garlic in here - and you squeeze - and it comes out these little holes. Muggles use them for cooking." 

Winky hugged the device to her tiny chest. "Thank you, Hermione!" she said joyfully, whisking herself and the packages away. 

Hermione felt the startled black gaze on her, and blushed a little. "House-elves love cooking implements, the more exotic the better," she explained, giving him a sheepish smile. "Dobby told me once." 

"It looks like a medieval torture device," Severus said a little waspishly, and then a thoughtful look crossed his face. "It might be just the thing for preparing certain ingredients, however, without touching them..." 

Hermione laughed. "I got one for the lab too," she admitted. "They're very useful devices." 

He nodded. And didn't say anything critical, which, from him, was approval. "I see you're preparing to do more than the basic brewing you have been so far," he said, looking at the several bags and bundles from the Apothecary. "Do you have anything particular in mind?" 

"Some of the potions in your books are VERY tempting," she said - which was true. "And... well, it's something to do. I get bored even more easily than you do." She grinned lopsidedly at him. "You are talking, you know, to a girl who taught herself to read medieval French over one summer holiday. I ran out of homework." 

He looked startled again, and then smiled a little. "Medieval French? Why?" 

"My Aunt Miriam teaches it," she explained. "She loaned me her textbooks. I wanted to learn German, but mum and dad wouldn't buy me the books. They never did," she added, a little disgruntled. "They instituted a policy when I was eight. No schoolbooks - or textbooks, or anything like that - over the holidays. I was only allowed to have them for school. I think they were afraid my brain would explode or something." 

He laughed softly at that. "No wonder you were always so... overenthusiastic... when you returned to school." 

"Dear god, yes. You have NO idea what kind of sentimental _dribble_ people think teenage girls ought to read." Hermione shuddered. "Thank god for the classics section of the local library. If it's got pretty pictures of centaurs and half-naked heroes on the front, it's easier to look like you're not learning anything." 

"On the contrary, I have a very good idea of the precise kind of sentimental dribble." She blinked at him, and he smiled wryly. "In my years as a teacher, I confiscated a small mountain of the stuff." 

She snickered. "I hope you disposed of it safely," she said solemnly. "I'd hate for it to leak out and start contaminating the school." 

"I gave it to Filch for burning. I always suspected that he saved a few of the more... lurid... romance novels for his own perusal." Severus shuddered slightly. 

Hermione shuddered to. "That is a mental image I NEVER needed to have," she said fervently. "And I bought you something at the Apothecary, she said, changing the subject..." She grinned, and tossed him a small, square package. "I owed you for that." 

He blinked, opening the package... which contained both Boomslang skin and bicorn horn. He stared at in bewilderment. "Why would you owe me..." He trailed off, and his one eye snapped up to give her a look of dawning comprehension. 

"You didn't really think _Harry_ took those out of your office back in second year, did you?" she asked, giving him an impish little grin. "I mean, what would he do with them? Eat them?"

* * *

It took Severus nearly three weeks to find out what had made Hermione so suddenly cheerful after her shopping trip. 

He hadn't taken much of an interest at first... despite her best efforts, the trial pushed him back into his depression, and for a few days he refused to take an interest in anything. Then, painfully, he'd started pulling himself out of it again. Still not well, but... better. More good days, fewer bad ones. 

And he'd found that Hermione, instead of hovering, had taken herself off to the potions laboratory. She hadn't neglected him, or anything, but she'd spent at least part of each day in there. When he started taking an interest again, she'd even encouraged him to help - they'd brewed a batch of the mild sleeping potion she favoured, and one of a fiddly but very useful memory-restoring potion, and started a very small cauldron of Felix Felicis. 

After two weeks, it occurred to him to wonder why. She obviously very much enjoyed the challenge of making the potions, but she, at least, could have no use for a memory-restorer. Like him, she almost certainly had more that she wanted to forget than that she wanted to remember. And it wasn't like her to do something for no reason - she was very practical, and much less likely than he was to get caught up in the intellectual challenge a potion presented. 

When he smelled the distinctive lavender-and-puffapod scent of a concentration-enhancing syrup on her robes when she passed him in the hall, he knew she was up to something. Hermione did not NEED a concentration-enhancing syrup. A concentration-lessening one, maybe, then she might remember meals without Winky having to go and bang on the door... 

It took him a few more days to catch her, which he eventually managed by limping wearily around the house until she ordered him upstairs for a nap, going with a very bad grace, and then waiting for half an hour. Once she was sure he was asleep, she slipped outside and down the overgrown garden to the shed. He waited for another ten minutes, just to be safe, and then followed her. He was still using the cane she'd made for him... it helped a lot, and his love for independence was stronger than his concern for how he appeared. 

He skulked down to the laboratory, and listened at the door. She was humming a rather pleasant tune that he didn't recognize, and he heard... cardboard. Cardboard squeaking as it was folded. He frowned. Cardboard? Very carefully, he turned the doorhandle and pulled the door wide. She preferred bright light to work in, it would be a moment before the sunlight alerted her to his presence... 

She was sitting crosslegged on thin air, something he would normally decry as a shocking waste of power... but the floor was, just at this moment, entirely occupied. At least a hundred jigsaw-ish pieces of cardboard were spread out across it, slowly folding themselves into small boxes. Above them, Hermione was filling dozens of tiny glass bottles with the concentration-enhancing syrup, the very tip of her tongue caught between her teeth as she tried not to spill. 

In a cage on one of the workbenches, three white mice were assembling a tiny see-saw. 

"Hermione Granger, what on EARTH are you doing?" he expostulated, when he'd finished a brief and completely deniable moment of gaping. 

She jumped, nearly falling out of the air, before catching herself with a flourish of her wand and turning in mid-air to face him. "You're supposed to be _resting_," she told him reproachfully. 

"And you're supposed to be telling me what you're doing!" he snapped, looking at the boxes, which were now hopping across the floor to congregate underneath her. 

She looked at the bottles, she looked at the boxes, and then she looked at him, dark eyes dancing with sudden, impish amusement. "Knitting," she told him, absolutely straight-faced. 

He opened his mouth to dock points from Gryffindor, remembered that he couldn't, and scowled instead. "Very amusing," he said, without the slightest trace of a smile. "What are you doing?" 

"Engaging in a cottage industry - well, shed industry, really." She gave him a slightly embarrassed smile. "Brewing potions and selling them. Not everyone is as brilliant as we are at this, you know, they can't do it for themselves." 

"I... see." No income, his mind told him. Not for months. Winky, of course, could provide food, using the magic of house-elves, and since he had wanted nothing else - hadn't even wanted that - he hadn't thought about it much except for that day in London. But Hermione had been here for months, with no money and no way of getting any while she was burdened with him... "I owe you an apology," he said rather grimly. "I hadn't considered the burden I must-" 

"Don't be ridiculus," she said firmly. "I volunteered, remember?" She went a little pink. "Anyway, I was hoping that you'd want to help, when you were feeling better," she said a little tentatively. "Since I assume you don't want to go back to the school..." 

He snorted. "Not for all the gold in Gringott's, no." He hadn't really thought about any future career prospects... hadn't really thought about any future, actually. The thought was... actually an interesting one. He could stay at home, brew interesting potions, and be given gold for it. "Who are you selling them through?" 

She straightened, looking rather proud of herself. "The Apothecary." 

He blinked. She had every reason to feel proud of herself. The Apothecary sold for very few people, and to his certain knowledge, never for anyone so young. 

And the Apothecary's prices were high, because he only stocked the very best. He was even licensed to sell controlled potions like Felix Felicis, which would explain why she was making that... it was, if he recalled correctly, worth significantly more than its weight in gold. 

"That is... an interesting thought," he conceded, trying not to let triumph show on his face. How very helpful of her, to render any plotting unnecessary. If they went into business together, she would HAVE to stay. If not here, then somewhere nearby, and they'd work together often... "What are you suggesting?" 

"A partnership?" she offered, and one of the small bottles floated over to him. "I... uhm... may have anticipated a little," she said guiltily. "I do that. I hope you don't mind..." 

He wasn't sure what she meant, until he looked more closely at the bottle. Etched into the side, small but beautifully detailed, were two profiles enclosed in a circle, both facing the same way, as if they were side by side, one slightly behind the other so both could be seen. That of a serpent - a python, he thought, from the shape of the head- and 'closer' to the eye, the blunter head of a big cat... no, a lioness. It was a distinctive symbol, and... a meaningful one. House-partisanship had been the root of almost all the conflict between them, when he had been her teacher, and in fact at the root at most of the problems either of them had had at school. Her decision to make an alliance of the symbols... he wasn't sure exactly what it implied, but it was speaking to him. "I don't mind," he said softly, running a fingertip around the graceful profile of the serpent. "It is... strikingly apposite, in fact." 

"I thought so," she said softly, turning another of the bottles over in her fingers. "We work well together. And we both _like_ doing this... creating, refining..." She smiled tentatively at him. "It would be a pity to let all that talent go to waste, don't you think?" 

He returned her smile, equally tentatively. "I think it would," he agreed. He extended his right hand, and she took it, shaking it solemnly. "A partnership, then." 

She looked as happy at the prospect as he felt. There was definitely something in this 'companionship' notion... he didn't know why anyone bothered with romance, when this was an option.

* * *

**Tragic, isn't it? Between the Death Eaters and spending his time entirely with the single and the adolescent, he honestly doesn't think there's more to love than hormones and treacle. Doesn't even know the real thing when he sees it, poor thing. **

I'm going to be doing something about that, naturally. 


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

Hermione carefully filled out the details of the latest batch of potions to be sent to the Apothecary - the concentration syrup again, just the thing for children with learning problems, twenty tiny bottles; thirty larger bottles of the Sleeping Draught, which was finding favour as Just The Thing to keep on hand for the odd sleepless night; and forty extremely small bottles of an old potion she'd found in one of Severus's old books, which had actually made him blush when she suggested it, and which had resulted in two litters of babies when they tested it on the mice. Slightly indelicate, but men being men, wizards or not, she was sure it would sell. 

She dated the page carefully, and was just about to close the book when the date registered. Blinking, she looked it again, and then looked up. At the other end of the dining-room table, Severus was frowning as he worked his way through a complicated translation from one of the older books. "Severus?" 

"Mm?" He didn't look up, as he scribbled a line and then crossed it out, scowling. 

"Do you realize I've been here for eight months today?" 

He blinked, looking up. "Has it been that long?" he asked, sounding surprised. He frowned, clearly counting it all up. "So it has." 

"It doesn't seem that long," she agreed, tapping her pen against her lips thoughtfully. Quills were very pretty, but she wasn't at Hogwarts any longer, and one of the first things she'd done when the money started coming in again was to buy a couple of good-quality fountain pens. They were less messy, they were less fiddly, and she could chew on them without making herself ill. "That means it's been almost eleven months since the last battle... and, even though it doesn't make sense, that seems as if it's been much longer..." 

"It does." He scowled. "We should probably start working on the hangover-remedies now," he said, sounding rather resigned. 

She was used to following his train of thought now... there were days when they didn't really seem to need to talk at all. "The anniversary partying," she agreed, making a sour face. "If ever there was an occasion that didn't make me feel like celebrating..." 

"I agree," he said quietly, and he gave her a sympathetic look. "The day would seem better suited to quietness and remembrance." 

"Yeah." She looked down at the book. Nearly a year since Ron had died... and the thought didn't hurt the way it had at first. She grieved for him, and she would always miss him... but he had been part of a life that had ended nearly a year ago. The world she'd rebuilt for herself after Voldemort's destruction was a separate thing from the world she'd had before it. Disassociation. Normal, for someone who'd survived such a massive trauma. She knew that, but it didn't keep her from feeling a little guilty, sometimes, at having moved on. 

The silence stretched out, until she shook her head and pushed the unhappy thoughts away. "I'll take the new batch of potions to the Apothecary in the morning," she said firmly. "I can stock up on new ingredients at the same time, and ask him about the hangover-cures - we won't bother if they're already stocked up." 

He nodded. "We need a decent Elvish dictionary," he said, scowling at the translation in front of him. "I'm not getting anywhere working from the German, I might get further with the original text." 

She nodded. "And you need some new robes," she said, looking at him thoughtfully. "You're getting scruffy." His robes had been old when she'd first arrived, and Winky's best efforts couldn't keep them looking their best anymore. 

He gave her a startled look. "I am not." 

"You are. Look at your elbows." 

He looked at the rubbed-grey patches on the backs of his sleeves and scowled. "I suppose if I must," he muttered. "Black." 

"No, really? Do you like black? I hadn't noticed!" she said, widening her eyes and affecting a girlish simper. 

He scowled at her, then grinned suddenly. "I would settle for grey, if you really must have a change," he said, with the air of one making a great concession. 

She laughed. "And deprive you of your trademark? Never." She gave him a thoughtful look. "Although... hm... what about dark blue?" 

"Dark blue is a possibility," he conceded, giving his sleeves a thoughtful look. "Wool, for preference." 

She nodded. "I need a winter cloak and things, too," she said thoughtfully. "So do you. I'll try to get everything at once. Ingredients, clothes... what else do we need?" She scrabbled for a spare piece of parchment. "I'll make a list."

* * *

The house felt empty without her. 

He wasn't being sentimental, of course. Severus Snape was never sentimental. He was... bored. That was it. There was no work to be done, nobody to talk to except Winky, who was loyal but not much of a conversationalist, and he'd read all his books. He was bored. Not missing her in any way. 

And, since he'd read all of his books, he didn't think she'd mind if he borrowed some of hers. He'd seen her with something called 'Muggle Relations Through The Ages', with a rather lurid image of a witch-burning on the cover, which should either be interesting or help him get to sleep, either of which would pass the time. 

Her room was rather untidy, quite unlike her work-area, but less of a disaster than her end of the dining room table they were both using as a desk. No cosmetics or anything of that sort on view, but she did favour pink and lavender when it came to socks, he noticed with interest, indulging himself in the urge to poke around just a tiny bit in search of the book. Or any book, really, that looked mildly interesting. 

There was one on her bedside table that he didn't recognize, and he picked it up - a battered little paperback which showed signs of being loved almost unto death. 'Jane Eyre' was the title, apparently. Turning it over and glancing at the back, he realized that it was a Muggle novel. He scanned the description on the back. Classic tale... romance... 

Hermione was reading a _romance novel_? He would never have believed it, she'd seemed far too sensible for such things. He turned it over again, looking at the front. A picture of a house - well, mansion, really. Hm. All the romance novels he'd confiscated as a teacher had had fainting women, half-naked men, heaving bosoms, or all three on the covers. He opened it, flipping through the first couple of pages... and then a phrase didn't so much catch his eye as step off the page, grab his pupil, and slam it down on the paper. 

_"He bullied and punished me; not two or three times in the week, nor once or twice in the day, but continually: every nerve I had feared him, and every morsel of flesh on my bones shrank when he came near. There were moments when I was bewildered by the terror he inspired, because I had no appeal whatever against either his menaces or his inflictions; the servants did not like to offend their young master by taking my part against him, and Mrs. Reed was blind and deaf on the subject: she never saw him strike or heard him abuse me, though he did both now and then in her very presence; more frequently, however, behind her back."_

Severus slammed the book shut, his heart suddenly pounding. That had struck too close to home, much too close... how often had he thought those very thoughts? What sort of romance novel would include such passages? 

He opened it again turned back, scanning the preceding paragraphs... not an abusive relationship, he realized, as he had first assumed. Jane was a _child_, bullied by other children. By children indulged and pampered by those around them, who were not punished for their treatment of her... indeed, he discovered, reading on, she was punished herself for fighting back. Close to home indeed... 

He flipped back to the first page. Hermione's name was written on it, in the rounded, slightly straggly handwriting she had already been outgrowing at eleven, when he'd first seen it. The battered book must have been a favourite for a very long time. 

He opened the book again, somewhat further on, and another phrase caught his eye. 

_"'If all the world hated you, and believed you wicked, while your own conscience approved you, and absolved you from guilt, you would not be without friends.' _

'No; I know I should think well of myself; but that is not enough: if others don't love me, I would rather die than live - I cannot bear to be solitary and hated, Helen. Look here; to gain some real affection from you, or Miss Temple, or any other whom I truly love, I would willingly submit to have the bone of my arm broken, or to let a bull toss me, or to stand behind a kicking horse and let it dash its hoof at my chest.'" 

He closed the book again, more gently this time, his hands shaking a little. If he hadn't known better, he might have suspected that some Dark Magic was at work, drawing his worst fears and memories from his mind to shape the words as he read them. _To be solitary and hated_... who would want to live under such circumstances? He hadn't. 

He'd glanced through confiscated Muggle novels before. None of them had been anything like this one. 

He should put it back. It was one of her favourites, she'd be annoyed if he took it. But, looking down at the book again, he knew he wouldn't. He wanted to know what happened to stubborn, unhappy little Jane, if she managed to escape her fate and be happy. The back of the book had promised romance... 

He took it back to his room, settling down to read.

* * *

Hermione stepped out of the Weasley's fire, slightly ruffled externally and extremely so internally. "YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHAT HE DID!" 

Then she blushed, as she realized that Ginny wasn't there alone, as she had been five minutes ago, when she'd called through the fire... Remus and Tonks, obviously having just arrived, were also sitting at the kitchen table, staring at her. "Uh..." 

"What happened?" Remus asked anxiously. "Are you all right?" 

"I'm fine! It's not... he..." Hermione covered her face with her hands. "He took one of my books and he's READING it!" she wailed. 

She could almost hear the puzzled glances. "Uhm... is that bad?" Tonks asked cautiously. 

"Yes, it's bad! God, why didn't I hide it under the mattress or something?" Hermione flopped onto one of the chairs, leaning her elbows on the table and resting her head in her hands. "Because I didn't think he'd get bored and wander into my room to borrow a book, that's why... damnit, I should have KNOWN he'd start poking that beak of his into things once he started getting better!" She actually quite liked his nose, but she wasn't feeling very fond of _any_ part of him just now. 

"Is it an embarrassing book?" Tonks asked, with some interest. "There isn't smut in it, is there? Because that would be really awkward." 

"No, there's no smut!" THAT thought almost gave Hermione a heart-attack. Thank god she'd left hers at home. "But... it's 'Jane Eyre'!" 

Ginny, who'd borrowed it while they were still at school, hissed in a breath. Tonks looked bewildered. "Is that bad?" 

"It's a literary classic," Remus said, giving Hermione a sympathetic look... although his lips were twitching just a little. "In which... uhm... the heroine winds up finding true love with a tall, dark, unattractive-but-charming man with a dark past who happens to be twice her age." 

Hermione whimpered, and let her forehead hit the table with a gentle thunk. "This is the most embarrassing thing that's ever _happened_ to me!" 

"Ohhhh." Tonks nodded, and then giggled a little. "Oh, lord... and he's actually reading it? A romance novel?" 

"It's not a romance novel!" Hermione insisted, her head still down on the table. "It's a classic! Jane has a really tragic childhood, and life is hard for her but she maintains her self-respect and personal integrity against all the odds!" 

"And she marries a tall, dark, unattractive-but-charming man with a dark past who happens to be twice her age," Ginny added, trying to stifle a grin and failing. "After he happens to be horribly injured and needs to be nursed back to health." 

Hermione whimpered again. Louder. 

"She was in love with him before that, though," Remus added, and then smiled ruefully. "Which I suspect isn't helpful." 

Tonks reached over to pat Hermione on the shoulder. "Why did you even bring it into the house, if it's that... er... obvious?" she asked curiously. 

"I didn't NOTICE," Hermione whimpered, sitting up. Her face was so red it felt painfully hot. "I mean... I know it sounds stupid, but I've had that book since I was nine, and I didn't think! I really didn't notice the parallels until I saw him holding the book, and then it all sort of hit me... and he wouldn't give it back!" she added indignantly. "He's actually strong enough to hold me off, now! Of all the times for him to be getting some of his strength back!" 

"But that could be good," Ginny said encouragingly. "I mean, if he's getting better, you'll be able to move out, won't you?" 

Hermione looked at her as if she'd grown another head. "Ginny, we're runing a business together! If I move out, I'll still have to see him every day, he'll _know_ that I ran away, _and_ I won't be able to go to work in my pyjamas if I feel like it!" 

"You work in your pyjamas?" Ginny asked, eyes going wide. 

"No! But I could if I wanted to." Hermione hid her face in her hands again. "Oh, god... that's one of my favourite books, and it SHOWS, I'm never going to be able to look him in the eye again!" 

"Well... it's not as if you've actually had any intention to... well... is it?" Remus asked rather hesitantly, with just a hint of 'ew' touching his expression. 

"No!" Hermione blushed furiously as she blurted out the not-complete-truth. "I hadn't even realized there was a parallel until I saw him with it! And, well, I thought of it THEN, but I couldn't help it!" 

"Nobody could," Ginny agreed comfortingly. "It's like when someone tells you not to think about a pink elephant." 

"Exactly!" Hermione sighed. "I mean, it's not that I'm not fond of him..." The sudden, yawning silence drew her eyes up from her hands. They were all staring at her. "I am!" she said a little defensively. "What's wrong with that?" 

Ginny looked stunned, and Remus mildly horrified. Tonks, who was looking at them too, just looked puzzled. "Why?" she asked, when it was clear that nobody else was going to ask. "I mean, I don't really know him... just a bit from the Order... but he seemed like a really miserable old grouch to me." 

"Yeah, well, you would be too, if you'd been him," Hermione said, frowning. "He's been stuck between sides, nobody liking him on either, since he was younger than you. Being that lonely and unwanted would make anyone into a grouch." 

Tonks nodded, seeming impressed by this, but Remus shook his head. "He's always been like that," he disagreed. "Ever since we were at school. He was a real little weasel then." 

"Harry's mentioned some of it," Hermione said quietly. "I mean, this was Harry, he's not a good observer and, god help him, he's not too bright when it comes to people - sorry, Ginny-" 

"I love him, but I'm not blind to his faults," Ginny said wryly. 

"-anyway, what he told me was kind of incoherent, but I got the gist." Hermione met Remus's eyes squarely. She'd always liked him, but this was a bone that was way overdue to be picked with him. "The Marauders didn't like him at all, did they, any of them? Of course, you can't blame them. Scrawny little git, not much fun to have to look at, bit of a swot, no sense of humour, always bleating about how you'd get in trouble if you kept doing that..." 

"Exactly," Remus said, giving her a rueful smile. 

"...exactly like me in first year, in other words," Hermione finished, closing her mouth with a snap. 

He blinked. "I... no! Hermione, Snape was different. He was nasty, even then... used to sneak around like-" 

"Someone terrified that someone was going to jump him?" 

"No! I... maybe, but he was always oozing around, he was a nasty, slimy little git-" 

"Personal comments, very nice, maybe you'd like to say something about me next? The hair's always a big favourite." 

Remus scowled. "Look, he gave as good as he got, Hermione, he really-" 

"Oh, he did? Got three people together and attacked each of you four to one, did he?" Hermione glared at him. 

"Look, I know he's got a lot of reasons for his grudge against us," Remus admitted unhappily. "But it wasn't... I don't know what he's told you, but it wasn't as vicious as he-" 

"He hasn't told me _anything_," Hermione said grimly. "I have more respect for him than to pry into his personal life, and he has accorded the same respect to me. But I've heard a little from Harry, and I've seen him and Severus together a hell of a lot. Severus may have been a bastard of a teacher... but he got damn near hysterical every time Harry tried to pick a fight with him. I thought it was strange at the time, but I was too young to understand why at first. I didn't work out that it was a deeply ingrained learned response until much later." They looked blank, and she scowled as she clarified. "He associated that face, that hatred of him, so strongly with fear and pain that he was almost as terrified of Harry as he must have been of James. And that made him angry, and someone who's furious and petrified isn't someone who's going to be very rational." 

Ginny nodded. "That's true," she said quietly. They all looked at her in surprise. "I heard a lot about those hysterics from Harry and... and Ron," she said softly. "I always thought they were exaggerating, but if they weren't... and it would explain a lot. I mean, I never had any trouble with him, except for the usual 'you're all stupid and I hate teaching' stuff, but they always carried on like he was Evil Incarnate or something in class..." 

"They weren't exaggerating." Hermione's lips tightened. "I've never seen him get that way with anyone else. He's had nightmares about Voldemort that get him less worked up. Only Harry could make him lose it like that." 

Remus looked at the floor, his thin face a little pale. "It wasn't... that bad," he said in a small voice, as if trying to convince himself. 

"Oh yeah?" Hermione leaned forward, placing her hands flat upon the table. "When I was in first year, hardly anyone would even talk to me. I was scared, I was out of place, I was ugly and unlikeable and I didn't have even one single friend. I nearly got killed by a troll because I was hiding in the toilets crying my eyes out because this big freckled git and his scrawny, oh-so-famous friend had been having a good laugh about how unpopular I was right in front of me! They only rescued me because they felt sorry for me! So imagine me in his place, Remus, all the oh-so-amusing things that James and Sirius used to do happening to _me_, and YOU TELL ME IT WASN'T THAT BAD!" 

He looked at her, his mouth opening... and then he flushed dully, looking down at his hands. He couldn't seem to get any words out. 

"I know the two of you never liked each other," Hermione said grimly. "And I know people sometimes have really, really bad judgement when they're in their teens. But don't you _ever_ try to justify that to me, Remus Lupin, because I've been on the receiving end and I know just how bad it is. And don't, for the record, ever talk about him like that to me again. You don't know him the way I do. You haven't heard what comes out of his mouth when he has the nightmares, you haven't had him hit out at you because being touched terrifies him, or had him clinging to you because he can't wake up and he can't stop crying, and you didn't spend seven years at school hanging around with someone who he hated with an undying passion but who he kept _saving_ because he couldn't just stand by and let a child get hurt!" 

All three of them were staring at her. Remus was looking miserably guilty, Tonks bewildered and concerned, and Ginny... she had an odd, unreadable expression on her face. "Yeah," she said softly. "He's like you that way." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione flared. 

"You won't stand by and let someone helpless get hurt, either," Ginny continued, her voice quiet and steady. "Even house-elves... you hate seeing anyone get pushed around, even if they're not human." 

"Damn right!" Hermione snapped, standing up. "And he IS human, and he needs me! Book or no damn book!" She looked around. "CROOKSHANKS!" she called. The half-Kneazle, who had been left with Ginny while Hermione went Snape-hunting, sauntered out from under the dresser, and she picked him up, holding him tightly. "We're GOING, Crookshanks," she said, glaring around the table, and Apparated away with an angry crack of displaced air. 

"Oh, dear," Tonks said quietly. 

"Yeah," Ginny agreed. 

Remus sighed. "I had no idea that would happen... I'm sorry," he said humbly. "I know I shouldn't have brought it up." 

"Oh, you should," Tonks said seriously. "I mean, we know now." 

He blinked at her. "Know what?" 

"That Hermione's got it very bad," Ginny said softly. "She doesn't know it yet, but she does."

* * *

Hermione hadn't cried, really, since that agonizing month just after Ron had died. A tear or two here and there, but no actual crying. At least not while she'd been awake. 

Now, having apparated directly to her room, she curled up around Crookshanks and wept. For Ron, for the young, frightened Severus, for the bitter, unhappy adult he'd become, for the fight, for yelling at Ginny, for everything being different. Crookshanks purred anxiously, rubbing his face gently against her chin, and Hermione cried harder, holding onto him tightly. 

Some time later, she wasn't sure how long, the door opened and she heard a familiar, halting step. "Hermione? Are you all right?" 

She gulped, trying to stifle her sobs. She hadn't cried in front of him for years, and she would have preferred to keep it that way. "I'm fine," she whispered, sitting up and scrubbing at her eyes with her sleeve. 

"Torrential floods of tears are not, so far as I am aware, included in the usual definitions of 'fine'." He sounded uncertain, and after a moment, she felt an awkward pat on her shoulder. 

She looked up, and bit her lip hard. He looked... lost. He had no idea how to handle his own emotions, let alone anyone else's, and she doubted he had any notion of how you went about comforting someone when they were upset. The tentative hand on her shoulder, though, meant that he was trying. 

And that wasn't helping. Him going around trying to be kind just when she was realizing how confused her feelings about him were... "I'm fine," she said again, sniffling. "I... went to see Ginny, to collect Crookshanks," she explained, stroking the cat's soft fur. "I didn't think you'd mind, and I missed him." She looked up at him, then looked away. Things were too... complicated... for her to meet his eye for long. "It's the first time I've been back to the Weasley house since..." She trailed off. 

He nodded, and the hand was quietly withdrawn. "I understand," he said, almost gently. "And Crookshanks is welcome, of course." He limped away, closing her door behind him quietly. 

Hermione felt a hundred times worse than she had before the door had opened. She'd used Ron as an _excuse_, as a way of deflecting the concern of a man who Ron had hated and who she cared about more than she ever would have thought possible. They were friends, closer in some ways than she'd been even with Ron and Harry, because they had more in common. And... and now things were getting complicated, because the unwanted idea had joined the unwanted awareness and she wasn't entirely sure she could make them go away... 

She looked around for a handkerchief and blinked. 'Jane Eyre' was back on her bedside table, precisely where she'd left it before it was stolen. 

'Pride and Prejudice', which she'd been reading instead, was gone.

* * *

Severus closed the slim paperback, and leaned back in his chair, frowning thoughtfully. 

The books had been... surprisingly informative. Much attention had been given to the whys and wherefores of people's behaviour, and since both were told from the feminine viewpoint, and written by female authors, they provided a valuable insight into the working of the feminine mind - which had always been a near impenetrable mystery, to him. 

He had read a few of the romantic novels and lurid magazines he'd confiscated at the school, although he'd been ashamed of giving in to the impulse. They had merely reinforced his opinion that romance - and, by extension, love - consisted of a mixture of treacly sentiment and frantic pawing. Treacly sentiment set his teeth on edge, and although frantic pawing had its moments, it certainly wasn't worth getting stuck with a sentimental idiot for the rest of one's life. His parents had been miserable together, and his father had never allowed the young Severus to forget that it was his fault that he had been burdened with them, that his mother's pregnancy had ruined Tobias Snape's life. No; sentiment, romance, love, passion - they were all snares for the unwary. 

It had come as something of a shock to realize, at almost forty, that there might possibly be more to it. He flipped the book open, and relocated the phrase that had particularly struck him. 

_'If gratitude and esteem are good foundations of affection, Elizabeth's change of sentiment will seem neither improbable nor faulty.'_

Esteem. It was a word he'd never before associated with love. Gratitude he was more wary of, it being unreliable to say the least, but she used 'respect' as well; Elizabeth's father, later, had held it as nothing that Mr Darcy was 'a proud, disagreeable man', but had anxiously begged his daughter not to marry a partner she could not respect. And Jane had, despite her love for Mr Rochester, refused to be with him under any circumstances which would tarnish her respect for him and for herself. 

He had envied both men bitterly, fictional characters or not; all the more because, despite sharing many of his bad points, they had secured love and happiness with two very intelligent, loyal young women. And that had led him to other thoughts which he should have stifled at once, but had not... 

Hermione had a great deal in common with both Jane and Elizabeth. She had a fiery temper, but worked hard to keep it in check. She was honest, and very loyal. She had a strong moral sense, and was not afraid to do what was Right even if it was difficult or unpopular. She had integrity, courage, and fortitude. 

In short, she was an admirable young woman for whom he had great respect. And esteem. He wasn't going to admit to the gratitude, but that was there too. And if, as the books seemed to believe, it was possible to couple respect and companionship with love - then he wanted it. More than he had ever wanted anything in his life. 

He wanted _her_. 

The idea wasn't impossible - she obviously loved and treasured both books, and had read them almost to pieces. Surely that signalled a certain willingness to at least consider someone with the failings of one or both heroes? The age-gap between them was no greater than that between Mr Rochester and Jane. Both men had been bad-tempered, rude, and proud on the surface, but had improved on closer acquaintance. Darcy, true, had been handsome - but Rochester had not, and it hadn't seemed to put Jane off at all. Darcy had been abominably rude to Elizabeth at first, and Rochester casually dismissive of Jane, but their early unkindnesses had been forgiven. 

Neither of them, however, had had to contend with the memory of a heroically deceased First Love. Severus had never thought that Ron Weasley was worthy of Hermione, even when he'd been teaching them both and determined to dislike the brats. Ron had, it was true, been brave and loyal. He'd also been stupid. Hermione would, surely, have eventually gotten tired of doing his metaphorical - and literal - homework for him, and wanted an intellectual equal. But she hadn't had a chance... the boy had died, and if the evidence of her sudden fit of tears yesterday was anything to go by, she had not yet been able to let him go. 

So... theoretically, he at least had a chance, but not now. It had been less than a year. Perhaps if he gave it another year or two, she would be recovered from her broken heart, and might... 

Lose her mind so profoundly as to be interested in him? Allow herself to be spurned by all her friends, as she surely would be, to be by his side? Care for the broken gargoyle of a man that he'd become? 

He scowled, his hand tightening around the book. He had strayed dangerously towards self-delusion, for a few moments, something he would not permit himself to do again. He should enjoy her friendship, and not imagine any hope for more. He had her companionship, could see her and spend time with her every day... what more, really, could he ask for? Well, his libido did have a few suggestions, but he'd lived like a monk for the last eighteen years, he was used to it. And he'd rather remain celibate for the rest of his life than lose her friendship. 

So. He simply had to return this book, and continue pretending - as she had, after her attempt to get the first one back - that he'd never read them at all. He had been happy enough, beforehand, with her friendship. He would simply have to force himself to ignore the other, pointless hopes that the books had raised. 

He could do it. He'd deceived Voldemort, how difficult could it be to deceive himself?

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Things were definitely going downhill at the little house. 

The rather domestic peace they'd managed before that fateful book-theft was a thing of the past now. Although they still worked well together, still talked and enjoyed each other's company, it wasn't - peaceful. Severus was crankier than ever, and Hermione was a little edgy herself. It didn't help that his response to her sniping was to snipe back - which she'd liked right up until she realized she'd been liking it in comparison to Harry and Ron's tendency to look wounded or sulk. It had made her feel horribly disloyal, realizing that she preferred Severus in yet another way. 

And it didn't help that people kept trying to talk to her. Harry had approached the problem of her association with the dreaded Snape the way he preferred to deal with all personal problems - he was ignoring it and hoping it would go away. Ginny had kindly pretended the conversation at the Burrow had never happened. And, now that she'd been found, a few others were making contact - Parvati, for some reason, although they'd never liked each other much. Neville, which she'd hadn't minded - he was always sweet, and more likely to chatter about his wonderful new job as an apprentice Herbologist for St Mungo's than to ask personal questions. And Luna, who was now writing for the Quibbler, with her usual mix of utter rubbish and unnerving accuracy. Hermione had, despite Severus' disdainful muttering, taken out a subscription - it was surprisingly entertaining these days. Luna's ability to puncture inflated egos and poke holes in convincing lies was on the increase, and it had been pretty good even at school. 

Slowly, relentlessly, Hermione was being pulled out of the protective shell that was the house at Spinner's End. She hated it. She'd been happy, when it was just the three of them. No impertinent questions, no demands to know what Severus was 'really like', as if he were some strange foreign animal, no unwanted sympathy for things she didn't want to think about. 

It didn't help that while she was finally being sought out, Severus wasn't. Draco visited regularly, and she'd been rather touched to realize that - slimy little ferret that he was - Draco genuinely loved his former teacher, looking up to him with a sincere respect and affection that his former sycophantic air had masked. Severus returned the affection, and Hermione had - with a little regret - decided to be nice to Draco, since it meant so much to her... 

Friend? Partner? Ally? She wasn't sure how to think of him anymore. 'Former teacher' was true, but no longer relevant. They were equals, now, in everything except the brewing of potions, in which he was still light-years ahead of her, but quite willing to help her catch up. They were friends, certainly, and partners, but neither word did justice to how complicated things felt between them, sometimes. Allies they always would be, and in a way that fitted better - the word carried overtones of shared endeavour, of battles fought side by side. But none of them were exactly right. 

Increasingly, though, she found herself thinking of him simply as 'mine'. When she'd realized she was actually resentful of Draco's helping him up the stairs when he was around, she'd had to retreat to the end of the garden and throw gnomes for a while until she felt better. 

She'd tried to rationalize it. She'd been nursing the man for months. They'd hardly seen anyone else. He was the precise antithesis of Ron, and thus a 'safe' person to fixate on. There were plenty of perfectly rational, sensible reasons for her to develop a passing infatuation with him. No psychologist - and oh, god, the wizarding world DESPERATELY needed a few good mental health professionals! - would have batted an eye at her current state of mind. 

It was just a predictable little infatuation that would go away. She wouldn't embarrass either of them by saying anything. 

"Oh, _crap_!" she gasped, as the train of thought she'd gone through a hundred times before ended just in time for her to see her flaxseed solution on the very brink of coming to a boil. She snatched it away from the fire, yelping as her fingers scorched... but at least it hadn't boiled. It would have been rendered useless - and while flaxseed wasn't difficult to acquire, the bezoar at the bottom of the small cauldron had been expensive. Simmering it in flaxseed solution released the small stone's poison-negating properties, making it bottleable, but if it got too hot the virtue would go out of it and it would be useless. 

Sucking her burnt fingers, she looked into the cauldron anxiously, and then relaxed. The solution was now a clear, rather glaring yellow - not very attractive, but right. If it had boiled, it would have turned a murky brown. 

"Hermione?" Severus had been working at the other end of the workbench while she was supposed to be watching the cauldron, keeping it from getting too hot or cooling down too much. Now he put down the orchid he'd been carefully dismembering and limped over to her, taking her hand in his and turning it over. There were reddened burns all along her fingers, and one small blister. "What were you thinking?" he asked, scowling at her. "You learned rudimentary cauldron-safety in your first year." 

"I got... my mind wandered," she admitted guiltily. "The solution almost boiled. I had to get it away from the heat quickly." 

"Even so." He reached for the burn salve that was a necessity in any well-equipped laboratory, still scowling. "You know better." 

It was, surely, the mildest reproof he'd ever given anyone. If he'd said it in Potions at school, there would have been speculation as to whether he was ill. But suddenly Hermione wished he'd snarled at her. That would have been more normal than the quiet reproach, and the gentle way he was smoothing the salve over her burns. She pulled her fingers away, then had to feign a wince as he looked up in surprise. "I'm fine!" she said crossly. "It was just a stupid slip, I won't do it again." 

"I should hope not," he said, an acerbic note creeping into his voice. "Even Neville managed to grasp the concept that touching a hot cauldron with your bare skin is an unwise idea... eventually." 

The sharpness helped. She hated it when he looked at her like that, it gave that stupid passing infatuation ideas above its station, and she knew damn well he didn't mean it that way. "And you were so disappointed," she sniped back, relaxing a little. 

A nice little bicker later, she felt a bit better. Things were still... normal. Good.

* * *

Severus had eventually - with Winky's help - decided to rearrange the house a little. The small sitting room now served as a study of sorts, being bigger than the tiny, poky room that had served as a dining room. The table had been moved in, with chairs at each end, and had promptly vanished under stacks of parchment, books, bottles, and quills. His comfortable chair - and another for her - was still at one end, and the uncomfortable sofa had been banished. It was... a pleasant room, now. A homey one. He and Hermione spent most of their time either there or in the laboratory, usually together, sometimes not. 

If it hadn't been for those books, he would have been happier now than he had ever been in his life. 

He resolutely turned his thoughts away, going back to the translation of an obscure passage in Elvish that hinted tantalizingly at hitherto forgotten uses for a plant it called 'asahir', which he thought might be sukebind. Even with the dictionary and his patchy knowledge of Elvish - mostly limited to plant-names - it was a difficult challenge, and he was thoroughly enjoying it, in a frustrated way. And it distracted him nicely from wishing for things he couldn't have. 

He growled a mild curse as someone knocked on the door. People _would_ keep doing that - sometimes even muggles, who could often get through an entire short speech without him understanding more than a few disjointed words. And, since there _were_ muggles about, Winky was prohibited from answering the door. He would let Hermione answer it. 

"I'll get it," she told the top of his head as he bent over his parchment again, and he smiled a little. The affectionate exasperation in her voice was very pleasant. 

She crossed the small room, peeking around the door... and he heard a quiet indrawn breath, and looked up in alarm. He hadn't shared his home with her for so long without knowing what Hermione flying into a controlled fury sounded like. "What do you want?" she said, her voice icy, to whoever was on the other side of the door." 

He didn't catch the words, but the voice sounded familiar, and he tensed. Her? Here? Hermione was scowling, as she reluctantly stepped back from the door she'd been holding barely open. "If you must," she said grimly, turning on her heel and marching over to position herself protectively beside him. 

He was grateful for her support, as Minerva McGonagall entered the room. They hadn't met since Albus Dumbledore's death, over a year before, although he'd seen her at Bellatrix's trial. "Minerva," he said quietly, rising as he retreated automatically behind the mask of icy control that he'd used for years. "To what do I owe the honour?" 

She gave him a thin, awkward smile. She looked older, and very tired. "Hello, Severus," she said quietly. "We... haven't seen you for a while," she added awkwardly. 

Hermione bristled beside him. "You noticed!" she said, in the cuttingly sweet voice she saved for when she was especially angry. "And after only eleven months! It must be wonderful to be so keenly observant." 

Severus smiled just a little, pleased by her protective anger and decidedly amused by the stunned look on Minerva's face. So far as he knew, Hermione had never so much as been short with her ever before, let alone blatantly rude. "Indeed it must," he agreed coolly. He waved the Headmistress to one of the more comfortable chairs at the other end of the room, limping just a shade more than necessary to reach the other one. Hermione played up nicely, making little concerned noises as she helped him into the chair, and taking up her position beside him again. He couldn't see her face, then, but from the look on Minerva's face, those charming brown eyes were looking daggers at her. 

"That is uncalled for, Miss Granger," Minerva said rather stiffly. "Naturally I checked to be sure that Severus was all right, but since you were here and had the matter in hand-" 

"You didn't see any need to make an effort? Stop by? Say hello, you're not forgotten?" Hermione snapped, and then she fell silent as Severus raised a hand. 

"Hermione has cared for me very well," he said quietly. "The healers are now quite optimistic that I will be able to lead a very sedate semblance of a normal life, after a few more months of convalescence." Emendis had been extremely pleased, on his last visit. Apparently having something to live for made quite a difference in how well one recovered. 

"That's wonderful news." Minerva smiled, and he softened just a little. She had, after all, a much better excuse for simply abandoning him than most of the others, what with the school needing to be rebuilt and restarted and so on. The year for which Hogwarts had been closed must have made for some very large incoming classes, too, which couldn't have helped. "I'm very glad that you're finally recovering... and I had every faith in Miss Granger," she added, giving Hermione a rather reproachful look. "She is one of the most capable young witches we have ever trained." 

"She is indeed." Minerva was surprised at that too... he could almost see the thoughts going through her head. Why are they getting along so well now? What have I missed? He smiled ever so slightly. "But I don't really think you came all this way just to inquire after my health, Minerva," he said quietly. "So I ask again... to what do I owe the honour?" 

"You're getting better, Severus," she said quietly, her tired eyes meeting his wary one. "I knew that before I came. Hogwarts is rebuilt, now, but we're still short on staff. Horace is insistant about going back into retirement, Kingsley Shacklebolt is going back to the ministry - he took Defense against the Dark Arts, but only for a year - and we don't have a permanent replacement for Filius, yet." She looked down at her hands, swallowing hard. "I can offer you a choice of positions..." 

Severus regarded her for a long moment, then shook his head. "I have never had any intention of returning to Hogwarts," he said firmly. "I never liked teaching, and stayed only because Albus Dumbledore... required it of me. I will not return now." He sensed Hermione relaxing from her sudden tension, and ruthlessly crushed the hope that it meant she didn't want him to leave _her_. "I have found... other work, more to my taste." 

She gave him a startled look. "I... hope I can convince you to change your mind," she said, frowning worriedly. "What work is it that you have chosen?" 

He drew his wand from his robes, flicked it, and a small bottle floated up from the table and drifted over into Minerva's hand. It was a sample ready to be sent to the Apothecary for testing, and a visually striking one - the potion within glowed a faint, steady blue the exact shade of a morning sky. He watched it drop into her palm with hidden pride - only recently had his magic begun to strengthen again. It felt good to be independent again, even in such a small way. 

She turned the bottle over in her hand, frowning as she read the neat handwritten label and then, on the other side of the bottle, saw the snake-and-lioness symbol etched into the glass. "I... see," she said slowly. "The two of you are... partners, in this endeavour?" 

He frowned, sure he heard a censorious note in her voice... but before he could speak, Hermione's hand rested lightly on his shoulder. "We are," she said coolly. "We work well together - and I very much enjoy the challenge of working with someone who doesn't need me to do his homework for him," she added, a rather wry note in her voice. 

That got a small, reluctant smile from Minerva. "I see," she said, turning the bottle over in her fingers. "Your work, I believe, Miss Granger? The bottle, I mean." 

Hermione shrugged. "It's easier to transfigure them than try to buy them," she agreed. "And I can be sure that the emblem is right." 

"It's very fine work," Minerva said admiringly, looking at it closely. "You were always gifted at Transfiguration." 

"Thank you." The possessive hand stayed on his shoulder, and Hermione's voice had not warmed appreciably. "I'm very much enjoying our work. I'm sure you'll understand my relief that he's not planning to give it up to return to a position where he was neither wanted nor valued." 

Severus glanced up at her in surprise at her vehemence, and smiled a little at her almost ferocious expression. She was very much the Gryffindor lioness, just at this moment, defending what was hers against an unwanted interloper. Perhaps, after all, there was hope? She was definitely being rather possessive, and he knew she'd always liked and respected Minerva McGonagall. Surely she wouldn't be so rude to her now, if she didn't care more than that for him. 

Minerva opened her mouth then, looking thoughtful, closed it again. She was no great mistress of subtlety, it was true, but she wasn't stupid, either. And she had never seen either of them behave this way before. "I can certainly understand how you would see it that way, Miss Granger," she agreed quietly. "And I should certainly have come by sooner." 

She knew her student... Hermione, who would have slapped down any attempts at justification, stopped bristling as soon as the apology was uttered. "You should," she agreed, but much more mildly. "Still, you've had a great deal to do, what with rebuilding and so on." 

"I have. And I, for one, wanted very much to have one of my old friends return," Minerva said, giving Severus a sad smile. "But... you're happy, Severus, I can see that, and I'm glad of it. I certainly wouldn't ask you to give it up." 

"Thank you, Minerva." He inclined his head as she rose to her feet. "I am... quite content." He paused, and decided he could risk just a little emotional vulnerability. He did, after all, have a devoted protector beside him. "I am glad to see you," he added more quietly. "I have few friends, these days." 

She had always been sentimental, and that admission, so unlike his former self, had her tearing up at once. "Well, you're not entirely without them," she said briskly, compensating for the sentiment as she always did. "I must be going, but I'll be stopping by again, I promise you. Take care of yourselves." 

"We will," Hermione promised, and then she grinned. "Well, I will," she said, giving him an affectionately reproving look. He scowled, of course, but it didn't fool either of them... indeed, he didn't want it to. His edge was gone completely, he thought without regret, if he was actually pleased that they saw through him so easily. 

"Good," Minerva said again, bestowing a rare, warm smile on both of them. "Good afternoon, then." 

She let herself out, and Hermione uttered a rather charming little growl. "What CHEEK!" she said crossly, helping him up. "Thinking you'd just want to go trotting back like a good boy to where you had to go through so much..." She paused, and looked up at him a little anxiously. "You did mean it when you said you didn't want to, didn't you?" 

He nodded, smiling down at her. She was standing quite close, her hand still on his arm. Her tendency to ignore 'personal space', to casually touch, made resisting her very difficult, but he didn't want her to stop. There had been few people willing to touch him in pleasant, unfrightening ways in his life, and he treasured the contact with her. "I believe I made my opinion on the dunderheads I was forced to put up with clear in your first year. I have no desire ever to teach again, believe me." 

"Good." She returned his smile. "I would hate to have to give this up..." Their eyes met, and held for just a shade too long before she looked away. "The business, I mean," she added cheerfully. "We've put so much work into it, and we're really getting to be known now... oh, drat, I should go check on the sleeping potion, it's been nearly an hour." 

"Of course." He nodded, watching her smile brightly and rush off before he limped back to the long table and his translation. He wished he knew how to interpret her sudden flusterment. From his reading, he knew that sudden confusion and embarrassment after such a potentially revealing statement could mean one of two things - either she was attracted to him, or she wasn't. She wasn't indifferent, at least, but her reaction could have indicated a strong opinion inclined either way. 

Which was not, really, very helpful.

* * *

Hermione wasn't sure when she'd gone from wistfully wishing that he _could_ care for her, to being miserable because he couldn't. The shift had been a gradual one; from being aware that he was a man, and not unattractive, to having the thought of romance put into her head, to wistful thoughts of 'if only', and then finally to wanting to cry because there was no hope. 

She'd only realized it when Minerva McGonagall had made her pitch to Severus, offering him the position he'd always wanted, and her blood had actually run cold. What if he'd accepted? She couldn't go too... although she was quite capable of teaching Charms - or Potions, even - she was too young. There were still people at school who'd remember her as a fellow student. He would go away and leave her behind! 

Then he'd refused, and she'd discovered that breathing was possible again. And then, when Professor McGonagall had gone, she'd made a slip in her relief that still made her blush to think of. Had he noticed? He was incredibly observant, but not at all good with little emotional cues. He'd certainly seen, but would he have understood? 

She knew who bloody well had to have understood, though, the conniving little cow. 

"Well, of course," Ginny said cheerfully. Hermione had tracked her down, dragged her into a quiet tea-house, and accused her of knowing everything. "I know you, Hermione. The minute you went off like that in his defense, I knew exactly what was going on." 

"Well, why didn't you tell ME?" Hermione wailed, then blushed and lowered her voice as people at nearby tables looked around. "You're as bad as Percy!" 

Ginny sipped her coffee, nodding. "He and I are the only members of the family who're any good at keeping secrets," she said placidly. "He would have told me about the spying, if I'd been older - he knew I could keep it a secret. But he couldn't trust any of the others not to let something slip, and he didn't want me to be burdened with such a big secret when I was so young." 

"I don't blame him," Hermione agreed, momentarily distracted. "I mean, I love your family, Gin, you know I do, but it's the easiest thing in the world to get secrets out of them. Just wind them up enough and it stands out all over them." 

"I know. I don't know where Percy and I get it," Ginny said reflectively. "Maybe we're throwbacks to some very secretive Weasley of centuries ago." 

"It's entirely possible." Hermione reached over to poke her shoulder. "And you stop trying to distract me! Why didn't you tell me?" 

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Hermione... you can't just _tell_ someone 'hey, by the way, you're in love with so-and-so'. It's sort of one of those things you have to work out by yourself." 

Hermione was going brilliant red. Ginny had used the l-word. She was not yet emotionally prepared for the l-word. "I suppose so," she muttered. "But a little warning would have been nice anyway. I kept trying to tell myself that it was just some kind of passing infatuation, but I don't think it is." She gave Ginny a woeful look. "And I feel like such a horrible person for... you know... moving on so fast." 

Ginny reached over to pat her hand gently. "Hermione... it's been nearly a year. It's not exactly fast." She sighed. "I miss him too," she said quietly. "I always will. But he's gone, and he's not going to come back. What do you think you should be doing, checking into a nunnery or something?" 

"Well, the wimples are very flattering..." Hermione managed a small giggle. "But... no. I loved Ron, but I'm not going to spend the rest of my life clinging to a memory." She'd never said it out loud before. It helped, in a painful way. 

"Good. You'd be miserable, and I don't want that." Ginny stirred her coffee, looking down into it rather wistfully. "And... the two of you are really compatible, Hermione. You're both brilliant, you both love to know stuff, you're both kind of snappish..." 

"If you're comparing my snapping to his, I think I'm insulted." Hermione gave her a rather wobbly smile. "But... yeah. We are sort of compatible. Yes, all right, _very_ compatible," she amended, as Ginny gave her a pointed look. "But he doesn't... I mean... Ginny, I'm not even sure if he likes girls!" 

Ginny paused and snickered. "Well, if he doesn't, you can always nudge him Percy's way," she giggled. "But you have a point, I guess... it's not like you know who he's fancied in the past, or anything." 

"Exactly!" Hermione sighed. "I don't _think_ he prefers guys... I mean, I spotted Percy even before Percy did... but I'm not absolutely sure. And... well... even if he does prefer women, he's known me since I was a little girl! A very unattractive, bossy, rule-breaking little girl! He's not going to want to be involved with me!" 

Ginny shook her head, smiling a little. "Hermione... look, I don't know what's been going on while you two are alone, obviously. Does he _treat_ you like a kid? Boss you around? Make mention of your youth and ignorance? Send you to your room?" 

Hermione shook her head slowly. "No... actually, I'm the one who does the room-sending. He gets tired, and he won't nap unless someone makes him, he thinks it's a sign of weakness or something. But mostly we're equals, you know? We bicker, but he doesn't tell me off or anything." 

"Then I wouldn't worry about it," Ginny said encouragingly. "He doesn't treat very many people as equals, from what I've seen. If you're in, you're doing pretty well so far." 

"I suppose so." Despite herself, Hermione felt a tiny bit more hopeful. "But... did you ever hear him on the subject of romance, Ginny?" 

Ginny nodded, making a face. "He confiscated a romance-novel in one of my classes, once. He was... uhm... kind of eloquent on the subject of brain-death, drivelling sentiment, and so on." 

"Yeah. He gave Lavender the same speech when he caught her with a copy of TeenWitch in class, doing the 'is he your one true love' quiz under the workbench." Hermione shuddered. "I mean, I agreed with a lot of what he had to say about that mind-numbingly idiotic magazine, but..." She bit her lip. "If I said something, or even hinted, and he didn't... he's not one for tactful silence, Ginny, you know that. He hasn't turned that withering scorn on me for a while, not since he gave up on trying to drive me out of the house, but he's still good at it and... I don't think I could stand it if he found out I cared and he sneered at me." She looked down at the table. "He might even laugh," she said in a tiny voice. 

"I don't think he would," Ginny said slowly. "I mean, he might turn you down, and he probably wouldn't be very nice, but I don't think he'd laugh. He hasn't exactly had a lot of people around who care about him, has he? I don't think he'd think it was funny, even if he didn't feel that way about you." 

"I hope not." Hermione sighed. "This would be so much easier if he wasn't so damn twisty," she admitted, smiling a little ruefully. "He's so complicated... half the time I have no idea why he does what he does. If he was easier to read, I'd know what to do." 

"If he was easier to read, you wouldn't be half as crazy about him," Ginny pointed out, with a rather Luna-like strike to the heart of the matter. "He challenges you, he fascinates you... you're not used to having to work at understanding people, and the mystery is part of his appeal." 

Hermione stared at her. "When did everyone in the world suddenly turn all perceptive on me?" she asked plaintively. "Neville, Percy, Fred, George... and now you!" 

Ginny shrugged, giving her a rather sad smile. "We're all growing up, I guess," she said softly. "Finally."

* * *

**Note: Sorry about the delay in posting this one, everyone. Er... you know how I said this story was finished? Originally chapter eight was the last one. But on rereading, I realized that after all that buildup, I'd kind of shortchanged Hermione and Severus in the actually being in love parts. So here's the revised chapter eight, and nine and the epilogue should be along in a couple of days. I'm sure you can all forgive me for adding a few thousand more words to the story, right?

* * *

**


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE**

Hermione was, for the moment, blissfully happy. The Apothecary had sent them a little challenge - an ancient formula for a European potion called simply 'Intégrité De La Vie'. It had not been brewed successfully for several generations, and very few had even attempted it... but if they could get it to work, it would be invaluable in treating those who had gone insane or suffered catestrophic nervous breakdown. This meant lots of research, translation, retranslation (Severus refused to concede that just because she could read Medieval French and he couldn't, that meant she got to have the translation to herself), experimentation, narrowing down, broadening up, niggling, squabbling, and throwing things. She'd had to make a special trip to buy a set of mugs so hideous that nobody cared if they got broken, and Winky had swept up enough shattered kitten-and-daisy bedecked china to fill several dustpans. 

She suspected that he thought, in the week coming up to the anniversary of Lord Voldemort's death, they needed a distraction. The way she'd verbally eviscerated a hapless clerk when he'd asked her if she'd decided what party to go to might have given him a clue, she had to concede. 

It had helped, both to distract her from the anniversary and from her confusion about the man sitting at the other end of the table. They'd spent several happy days bickering, throwing ideas at each other, forgetting to eat, and generally descending into a blissful intellectual haze. 

"Have you got _Heilende Tränke für den Verstand_?" she asked, wiping her inky fingers absently on her sleeve and reaching for a fresh piece of parchment. "I think maybe I'm getting somewhere with the three sprigs of 'feuille-argentée' the original text refers to. I think it might be the same as the 'silberner Wedel' in that memory restorative that old Mueller thinks is rubbish but concedes does work sometimes..." 

"I had it this morning..." Severus excavated through the pile of books beside him, and passed it over. "Here. Mueller was an idiot, but I'll concede he was a scrupulous taker of notes." 

"Bless him," Hermione said fondly. Far too many of the brewers of older times had simply used colloquial names for things, thus encoding their formulae far more thoroughly, from the point of view of those who tried to follow in their footsteps centuries later, than they could have by using actual codes. 

"It's all that's saved him from being forgotten," Severus said rather sourly. "Is there tea?" 

Hermione jiggled the teapot hopefully, and got a sad little sploshing sound. "No. WINKY!" she called plaintively. "THERE'S NO TEA LEFT!" 

Winky appeared seconds later, barely visible under an enormous tea-tray. "You is forgetting lunch again!" she said reproachfully, shoving things aside to make room for the fresh teapot, milk, sugar, lemon slices, biscuits, and an enormous plate of sandwiches. Hermione yelped and was just in time to rescue the maligned Mueller from being pushed right onto the floor. 

"Winky!" Severus snapped, steadying his stack of books with one hand. "If you must mess the place up with a meal for four, kindly do so on the table at the other end of the room!" 

Winky looked around the room and uttered a tiny, squeaky snort. Hermione couldn't blame her. It looked as if a hurricane armed with books, parchment, and quills had gone on a rampage through the study, and Winky's contribution was probably the tidiest area of the entire room. "Master Snape will become ill again if he does not eat!" she said determinedly. "If Winky is putting food where he cannot reach it, he will be forgetting it again. And Hermione is just as bad!" She bustled around filling mugs and loading plates, bobbing at them insistantly until they made room, then disappearing with a brisk crack. 

Severus grumbled something probably quite uncomplimentary, picking up a sandwich. "Look at this," he said disgustedly, picking through an untidy stack of parchments. "I had these _arranged_." He seemed quite unaware of the fact that he was almost inhaling sandwiches as he rummaged through the parchments, arranging them all over again. 

Hermione, who was going through biscuits almost as fast, dug around for her fountain pen. "She's a lot more argumentative now than she used to be, have you noticed that?" she asked, flicking through _Heilende Tränke für den Verstand_. "I think she's finally gotten used to the idea of freedom." 

"She's positively bossy." Severus poked around the plate of biscuits until he found a lemon cream. "I blame your dreadful influence." 

"I am happy to accept responsibility. I think I convinced her with the 'you can do what's best for them, not what they THINK is best for them' angle." Hermione located a ham and cheese sandwich and bit into it, belatedly realizing how hungry she was. "It's more efficient, in the long term." 

"And more annoying, as well," Severus muttered, but not especially as if he meant it. His snipes and grumbles were getting a lot less nasty, these days. "Do you have the ink?" 

"Don't need it. MY pen doesn't dry out every few words." She waved it at him. "I keep telling you, if you'd just _try_ one, I'm sure you'd like it." 

"I did, and I didn't like it. I don't know how you can write with something that _thick_ without your fingers cramping up." Severus found his ink, dipping his quill and frowning thoughtfully at his parchment. "I think possibly the references to a 'song of morning' may refer not to a dawn-blooming flower but to an actual musical element." 

"A potion you sing to?" Hermione rubbed the tip of her nose with the end of her pen. "Or... birds, maybe? They sing at dawn. Are there any songbirds with bits useful in healing potions? Or maybe birdsong itself is a key?" 

He considered that, his once bitter face relaxed into happy thought. "That is a promising thought... You keep looking for your silver leaf, I'll consult _'Magische Vogels'_. I have a copy somewhere..." He headed for the bookshelves, food forgotten again as he rummaged happily. Returning the the table, he gave her a brief, warm smile as he sat down, then submerged himself in his book. 

Well. So much for that distraction from her feelings for him. That smile had made her heart pound and her emotions do little backflips. 

_Admit it, Granger, you're hopelessly in love with him. And I do mean 'hopelessly', however optimistic Ginny might be about it. At least he likes having you around... maybe if you give it another couple of years, he'll forget about student-Hermione and see grownup-Hermione... well, actually, two years of this will land you in a funny farm, so it'll be more total-lunatic-Hermione really, but maybe he goes for that._

* * *

Severus picked at his dinner, knowing that Hermione was doing the same. The Intégrité De La Vie had worked well as a distraction until now, but tomorrow was the first anniversary of the Dark Lord's death, and no distraction was enough now. 

Except, just barely, her. 

He let himself watch her, admiring her delicate features and soft, fair skin even as he fretted inwardly at the sad droop of her mouth and the slow way she poked at her food. Of course she was unhappy. She'd lost friends - and the boy she loved, damnit - in that final battle. She'd been in the hands of the Death Eaters for a period of at least an hour, and Merlin only knew what had happened in that time... she'd never talked about it, and he'd never pried. 

He wanted to help her. To somehow make this easier for her. But, short of putting a potion of Dreamless Sleep in her tea so she slept right through the day, he couldn't think how. They both preferred not to talk about it, they weren't on such terms that he could hold her while she mourned... and even if they had been, he wasn't sure he could stand holding her while she wept for someone else. He was a jealous man, he always had been, he would only wind up hurting her more. 

"We probably shouldn't try to work on the Intégrité De La Vie tomorrow," she said softly, catching him unawares as she looked up and met his eye. "We're not... going to be at our best." 

"No." He looked down at his plate. His shepherd's pie looked particularly unappetizing, as good as Winky's cooking always was. "It is a fascinating exercise, however, if a somewhat frustrating one." 

"More than somewhat." She dredged up a small smile. "If we do manage to perfect it, though,and it works the way it was supposed to..." She sipped her wine, the unhappy introspection fading a little from her face. "It might do something for Neville's parents," she said hopefully. "That would make him so happy... he adores them, you know, and I really think they know who he is... his mother's always hoarding things to give to him." 

"I hope so." He'd seen the Longbottoms only once, since they'd been confined to St Mungo's. He remembered both of them from their days at school, although they'd been a couple of years ahead of him. It had been painful to see the change in them. "He is working there now, isn't he?" 

"Apprentice Herbologist," Hermione agreed. "He adores it... I think he'd sleep in the greenhouses if they let him." 

"It was always his best subject, as I recall." He was not going to say anything unkind about her friend, not today. And as mad as Neville had always driven him, he felt guilty about how his evil-teacher guise had made him treat the boy. 

"Yeah..." She ate a forkful of shepherd's pie, with a dutiful look on her face, then sighed and laid down her fork. "I'm going to go get an early night, I think," she said quietly. "Do you mind if I have the bathroom first?" 

"Not at all." He wanted to say something kind, something reassuring, something that would help, but he didn't know how. "Sleep well," he offered, knowing how inadequate it was. 

She gave him a small smile, pausing on her way out of the room to rest a hand lightly on his shoulder. "You too," she said softly. "I'll keep an ear out, in case you don't." 

"As will I. Goodnight, Hermione." 

She smiled again, and headed for the door. "Goodnight, Severus." 

He watched the door swing closed behind her, and then leaned back in his chair, closing his eye, the better to imagine that she was still there. 

_I love you..._

* * *

Hermione was hiding, and she knew it. 

She'd gotten up well before he had, and headed down to the laboratory. They'd agreed not to work on the Intégrité De La Vie, but if she didn't do something she'd go insane. Some people brooded - Hermione either worked or exploded. 

Severus was a brooder... she was pretty sure he was in the study now, going over things in his mind and sinking back into the pit of depression he'd been slowly crawling out of. She should go talk to him, distract him, but she would only fall apart herself if she did. 

So she'd started a complex salve for the more persistent and unpleasant skin-conditions - not a fussy one, it would be forgiving of a few mistakes, but it took time and a lot of work. And while she worked at it, she tried an exercise that she'd learned from Remus Lupin. She closed her eyes, tried to silence her mind, and then let what words would rise from the roil of thoughts and emotions. 

"Endings," she whispered aloud, stirring a shred of Kneazle fur into the salve. "Beginnings. Love. Fear. Inevitable." 

That helped. Once she had words, she could start making sense of what she was feeling. 

Today marked an ending. It had been a year. It was all over. She was as recovered as she was going to get, she had moved on, even the nightmares were rarer now. And a beginning, too... "First day of the rest of your life," she muttered, smiling wryly at the cliche. Time to stop hiding, to start living her life again. 

The love and fear were part and parcel of each other, all focused on the man inside the house. She would have to do something about that, but not yet. They needed... more time. Time to be certain. 

As for the 'inevitable'... that was why she was hiding. Ever since she'd woken up, she'd been twitchy. _Something_ was coming, she could feel it tingling over her skin. Maybe it was a memory of how she'd felt last year, maybe it was just fear of the future, but she hadn't been able to shake the feeling all day. _Something is coming something is going to happen brace yourself be ready..._

"Or maybe I'm just overtrained, after seven years of disasters," she told herself aloud. "It's Harry's fault. He's made me paranoid."

* * *

The anniversary of Voldemort's death, of his own torture and maiming and the loss of students and friends on both sides, was enough to drive even his stifled longing for Hermione from his mind, for a little while. 

Hermione hadn't been at breakfast. She was in the laboratory, he knew, but he'd chosen not to venture down to the end of the garden today. Her memories were, doubtless, as raw and painful as his, too much so to be shared - and he doubted that either of them could have held a conversation on any other topic today. It was better that they didn't see each other. He could offer her no comfort, and it would be monstrously unfair to expect comfort from her. 

So he lingered in the study, ordering Winky from his sight when she appeared to try to coax him to eat. He tried to distract himself at first with books, with tidying up the detritus of their work, with the translation of that Elvish passage... but soon the memories pulled him in anyway. 

A year ago today, Voldemort had smilingly struck him down, without warning. When he'd awakened, he'd been bound, spread-eagled against a wall, his wand in Pettigrew's hands as Voldemort slowly and patiently explained the the steps by which he'd discovered Snape's treachery. The steps he intended to take to punish it. He always made a point of telling people what he was going to do to them, to increase their fear as much as possible. 

And, though he'd tried to hide it, Severus had been horribly afraid. Pain he was accustomed to, but the slow mutilation Voldemort had described had left him pale and shaking before a drop of blood had been shed. His fingers had merely been the beginning... eventually he would have lost his hands completely. His legs, too, would have been sacrificed. His eyes, his tongue, would have been torn from his head. And he wouldn't have been allowed to bleed to death, either... Voldemort had intended his punishment of the traitor to go on for days, and all the Death Eaters would have had a chance to participate. The shards of broken glass in his lungs had been Lucius Malfoy's idea... 

If the Order hadn't intervened when they did, hadn't appeared when he'd given up all hope - he would have broken, he would have pleaded for death, and he would not have received it. 

He realized with a start that his quill was crushed and broken in his grip, ink dripping slowly onto the parchment. Swallowing hard, he laid it down slowly, pushing back from the table. The translation could wait for another day. 

Stumbling a little, he made his way up the stairs to his bedroom. Winky would be coming back to the study to try to get him to eat again, soon, and he didn't really want Winky to see him like this - the faithful little creature worried enough, and he didn't deserve it. He had done nothing but berate her and order her away, when she'd first followed him here, and yet she'd stayed. 

Just as Hermione had. He'd tried to order her out, too, and the memory seemed so distant now. He'd hated her for seeing him like this, resented her interference and her pity. And now... now he would give anything to keep her by his side. But he didn't deserve her, not even the friendship that wasn't nearly enough anymore. 

Reaching his room, he closed the door and leaned against it. He'd been - content, the last few months. Even happy. The depression had lessened, he'd been able to forget his guilt for days at a time, as he flouted the loneliness he deserved and fell for a girl he couldn't have. Now the guilt returned, as the memories refused to be denied. 

And then, to his shock, as his thoughts travelled that well-worn path... something new surfaced. 

Anger. 

He was tired of punishing himself. He had risked more than anyone else, had faced death and torment time and again, and it was not fair. It was not _just_. He'd gone from being abused by the Marauders to being manipulated by Voldemort to being controlled by Dumbledore, and he was suddenly blisteringly angry at all of them. He would NOT keep torturing himself on their behalf. It was over, it was finished, and he was done with them all. 

A sudden twinge in his fist brought him back to reality, and he realized with a shock that he'd punched the wall. He'd actually punched the _wall_. For the first time since he was in his teens, he'd so lost control of his emotions that his body had lashed out without his conscious awareness. And the loss of control had felt _good_. 

It was his left hand, and as he examined the reddened knuckles, his eye was drawn back along the arm. The Dark Mark was faded, but still there - he'd spent hours staring at it while he tortured himself for his inadequacy, his worthlessness, the knowledge that he should have died. 

It had to go. 

His old potions kit was still here, tucked away under the desk. His silver knife was clean and razor sharp. That would do. 

He didn't bother to numb the pain as he sank the slender point carefully into his skin. He was inured to pain, he'd suffered so very much of it over his lifetime - and this pain was a good one, a cleansing one, as he excised the mark he'd used to torture himself with for the last eighteen years. It was over. He had a chance to start over, and he was going to take it and be damned to them all. He had a life to live, and he was going to live it. 

Removing a section of one's own skin was a disgusting process, but he persevered, muttering a quiet charm to slow the bleeding. He didn't want to stop it entirely - it would be easier to regrow the section of skin if he didn't. He'd clean up the mess later, he was used to that. Once the patch of skin was severed he breathed the soft, songlike spell he'd invented years before to heal his hurts, wincing as the edges of the wound slowly grew together, pink new skin spreading towards the middle of the wound. It was a little thinner than the rest, and still sensitive, he'd have to use the spell again... but with the bleeding stopped, he turned his attention to the blood-covered Dark Mark. Fire would do nicely to destroy it. 

He muttered a spell that drew the moisture from the patch of skin, leaving it dry and almost mummified, the Mark still clearly visible. Then he lifted his wand and touched it almost ritualistically to the Mark. Bright blue flame engulfed it, and he watched, feeling an unimaginable weight lift slowly off his shoulders. It was _over_. He was free. 

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" 

He looked away from the dying flames that had just consumed the last of the Dark Mark to see Hermione standing in the doorway, as pale as a sheet and her eyes huge with shock. Her horrified scream startled him, until he looked down and realized that his hands were covered with blood, the floor marked with it, the bloody knife still clearly visible. "I'm all right," he said hastily as he rose a little unsteadily to his feet. "I-" 

"ALL RIGHT?" She crossed the room in two strides, and slapped him hard enough to make his ears ring. "You... you..." she raged as he staggered, staring at her in shock. "How could you?" 

She lifted her hand again but he caught her wrist. He could hold her off, now - he wasn't especially strong, but he was significantly bigger than she was. "How could _I_?" he demanded, the anger rising again. "How dare you come barging in here, invading my privacy-" 

"I was worried about you!" she shouted back. "Winky told me that you sent her away, that you were hiding up here, and I came up to check that you were all right! I thought maybe I could help!" 

"You do help!" he shouted, still holding her slender wrist as she tried to hit him again. "But you've been avoiding me all day! I thought you didn't want to talk to me, that it would be too painful!" 

"Not as painful as finding out you'd done something _stupid_ after all we've been through!" she raged, flushed with fury now instead of pale, her eyes flashing. "I can't lose you too, I _can't_!" 

"I wasn't doing something _stupid_, I was doing something I had to!" he growled, shaking her and holding out his arm, making her look at the patch of pink, unblemished skin where the Mark had been. "It's over, Hermione! I had to stop torturing myself with it!" 

They were shouting, he realized dazedly, but they weren't fighting. Maybe it was easier to say things like this, when you were angry and afraid and they just came out... 

She looked, and gulped, swaying a little. "You... you idiot!" she whispered fiercely, touching the edge of the skin. "Doing something like this, here, you could have severed a vein or infected the wound or-" 

"I had to do this," he said quietly. "I just... had to let it go, Hermione. I couldn't live the rest of my life punishing myself for what's done." 

She nodded, her lovely eyes swimming with tears. "I've been telling you that for months, moron," she whispered, and then she was hugging him tightly, ignoring the blood that smeared both of them. 

He held her back, pulling her tightly to him, and she looked up in surprise - he didn't always return her embraces, and was usually gentle and tentative when he did. But now he couldn't hold her tightly enough... and when she looked up, her face so close to his, he couldn't resist. 

He kissed her. Afraid as he was of being rejected, he could no more live for the rest of his life under the burden of unspoken love than of guilt. He was done with torturing himself. Now was the moment to sieze the day, to know... to kiss her, at least once... 

And she kissed him back, without a moment's hesitation, melting into his arms as they kissed almost shyly at first, then more eagerly as they both realized that the other wasn't pulling away. Then she did, just enough to speak between kisses. "I love you," she said softly, giving him a half-frightened look as the words slipped out. 

Severus stared at her for a moment. That was it? It had been this easy, all along? He kissed her again, holding her tightly, and then he rested his forehead against hers. "I love you too," he said quietly, blushing a little at how anti-climactic and... and _silly_ it sounded. But it felt... right. No melodramatics, this time, no years of misunderstandings and lies and misery. Just... I love you. As simple as that. 

She let out a tiny laugh, of relief and happiness, and slid her arms around his neck. "We're both idiots," she told him, cuddling against him as she kissed him again. "But you're a bigger one, I'm sticking to that." 

"Of course I am, I'm a foot and a half taller than you are," he said, and she laughed again, a happy little gurgle. "And yes, we are." 

"Good. As long as we're agreed on that." She kissed him yet again... and this kiss went on, and on, and grew more passionate as they clung to each other. And although they did talk after that, aside from a muttered _Scourgify_ to get the blood off, it was somewhat incoherent and very private.

* * *

Winky tiptoed away from the door, where she'd been unashamedly listening at the keyhole, beaming all over her tiny face. Finally, the two of them had worked out that they belonged together. Good! As much as she enjoyed looking after Master Snape, who needed her and appreciated her, it wasn't the same as having a proper family. Now, at least, they would soon be in a position to start one. It had been so long since she'd had children to look after... she could hardly wait. 

Of course, she wouldn't say so. Humans liked to think they'd thought of these things themselves, bless them. 

She slipped downstairs, making happy plans. She wouldn't interrupt now, but she'd put out a snack for them - they were bound to get hungry later - and they'd need a nice big breakfast...

* * *

It was dusk when Hermione slipped out of the bed, padding over to the small window. The first few stars were coming out, and she looked up at them, smiling a little. 

Hacking out the Dark Mark like that had been a very stupid thing to do, and she was not going to change that opinion. But... it had been time, for both of them, to let go. To move on. To find a better way to spend their evenings, she added mentally, blushing and giggling quietly. She should, she supposed, be feeling solemn and uplifted and... something. And she sort of did. But 'That was great. REALLY great' kept drifting across her mind. 

"You sound happy." Warm arms slid around her from behind, and he drew her back against him. She leaned back, enjoying all the warm, bare skin and resting her hands gently on his arms as they held her. 

"I am happy," she murmured, snuggling back against him. "I thought you were asleep, though." 

"I was." He was smiling, she could tell by his voice. "Until the very warm, pleasant young woman in my arms went and moved." 

"I did try not to wake you." She snuggled some more. This was VERY nice. "Did I mention that I love you?" 

"Several times. Before, during, and after." He sounded sort of surprised and smug, both at once. It was adorable. "I... got the impression that you were pleased," he added hopefully. 

She snickered quietly. "I am not going to pander to your masculine ego any further, Severus," she told him firmly. "Isn't it enough that if we'd had any neighbours, they would have heard me? And that Winky definitely did?" 

He giggled. He actually giggled. "Yes," he admitted sheepishly, kissing the top of her head. "I suppose it is." 

"Good." She turned in his arms, standing on tiptoe to kiss him lingeringly. "I love you," she murmured again, savouring the words. If she'd known it would all be so EASY, she'd have said it long ago. 

"Even though I'm too old for you?" he whispered, returning her kiss. "And temperamental, and selfish, and rather broken?" 

"Yes," she agreed, resting her forehead against his. "Even so." 

He smiled, and kissed her again. "And I love you," he told her almost shyly. 

"Even though I'm too young for you?" she returned, smiling slowly. "And temperamental, and bossy, and rather broken?" 

"Even so," he agreed, holding her a little tighter.

* * *

**Author's Note: I anticipate a lot of complaints at this point, so I'll elucidate - I don't write smut. On _rare_ occasions I will include a fairly non-explicit sex scene, but only if it's pivotal to the overall plot. This one wasn't. We didn't need to see it, and frankly, they're both very private people who don't like to be watched. So I do not want to hear any 'but there was no prolonged and graphic seeeexxx' bitching, because there is never going to be, and anyone who wants it is welcome to look elsewhere. **


	10. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"Ready to make an entrance?" Hermione murmured quietly. 

Severus nodded. He was a little nervous, but... she was right. It was time for this. "Stop fussing," he told her, smiling down at her and touching her hand lightly as it rested on his arm. "I'm quite capable of bearing up under the strain of walking into a crowded room with a lovely young woman on my arm." 

She laughed, and squeezed his arm gently. "Well, if you're going to be like that about it..." She opened the door, and they stepped through, side by side. 

The chatter that had filled the room faded into silence, and he was glad of her hand still reassuringly holding his arm. He hated being stared at, even now, but he was getting used to it. And he wasn't the only one, this time - people were looking from him and Hermione to Harry Potter and back again, clearly awaiting a famed Potter explosion. Hermione tensed beside him, and automatically he covered her hand with his again, holding it gently. 

Potter got up, walking over to them, and for a long moment he and Severus locked gazes. Then he held out his hand, giving Severus a small, rueful smile. "I... think it's time we both let bygones be bygones," he said quietly. "I'm sorry, for everything." 

Severus looked down at the extended hand for a moment in utter shock, and then he nodded slowly. "I... apologize as well," he agreed, mostly for Hermione's sake, and they shook hands awkwardly. 

Hermione looked from one to the other of them, then over to where Potter had been sitting. "The potion fumes can account for mine going mad," she said clearly, a beaming smile spreading across her face. "But what's going on with yours, Ginny? Has he been hitting his head again?" 

Ginny Weasley, to become Potter next summer, beamed herself. "Too many Bludgers," she said wisely. "One of them must have knocked some sense into him." 

For the first time, Severus found himself in absolute accord with Potter, as they exchanged embarrassed looks and the rest of the gathered Order burst into laughter. Kindly laughter, though, and he forced himself not to take offense. 

Then Minerva was there, and he allowed her to guide him around, introducing him to those members of the Order who he hadn't met. Hermione was over by the fire, in earnest conversation with Ginny. Wedding discussions, probably - Ginny had been deeply incensed that they'd been married without having a party, or a lavish ceremony - or even guests. Hermione's parents had been their witnesses, and that had been all they'd wanted. Their relationship had started in quiet and companionship, it had seemed fitting that their wedding be the same. But only by promising to be matron of honour, and helping to plot an insanely lavish affair, had Hermione earned her friend's forgiveness. 

Then the Weasley twins were calling for attention. "A toast," one said, raising his glass. "To the Order." 

"To all of us," the other continued. 

"To those we've lost," the first said, looking around the room. 

"And to those we haven't," the other finished, and he actually grinned at Severus. Cheeky little devil. 

The toast was drunk, and he turned to return to his wife. Ginny was talking to her fiance now, and Hermione was politely refusing a firewhiskey offered to her by a rather tipsy Hagrid. 

Resigned, Severus stopped, and awaited the inevitable hush. Some things the universe just wouldn't let slide. 

The hush fell, and Hagrid's voice was clearly audible. "Ah, you're not a kid anymore, Hermione," he was saying solemnly. "You can't drink a proper toast in Gillywater, you need a proper drink." 

Hermione glanced over at her husband, and he saw the amused resignation in her eyes. She, too, recognized the inevitable. "No thank you, Hagrid," she said clearly. "Not in my condition." 

Everyone looked at her. Everyone looked at Severus. He knew, he KNEW, that he was blushing, even as he looked at her rather proudly. It didn't show yet, of course, but in just over six months... 

"Good lord, already?" one of the twins asked, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, I know he's not getting any younger, Hermione, but aren't you rushing into this just a bit?" 

Hermione sipped her gillywater, assuming the seraphically innocent expression that meant she was about to say something naughty. "Well, you know me," she said brightly. "I've worked out a timetable and I'm going to stick to it." 

The hush was still absolute - although Ginny Weasley, at least, was grinning in anticipation. "Timetable?" the other twin asked, raising the opposite eyebrow. 

"Of course. I always plan ahead." She looked even more angelic. "For the next ten years, I plan to build up the business and have however many children we decide on, which is tentatively three. Then when I'm thirty, I'll enter the Ministry. I'm reasonably confident that I can make Minister for Magic by thirty-five." 

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then the first twin turned his head. "Yeah, okay... HEY, DUNG!" 

"What?" Mundungus Fletcher appeared, looking rather the worse for wear already. 

"In ten years, mate, we flee the country," the other twin told him. 

"We know her," the first twin added, grinning at the room at large. "If she says she'll do it, she will." 

"You're a brave man, Snape," the second twin said, raising an impertinent glass to his former professor. "She's brilliant... but scary." 

"I know," Severus said, giving his wife a fond look. "We're well suited in that respect." 

She smiled up at him. "We are," she said softly, as chuckles and murmurs broke up the quiet, and people turned back to their own conversations. "And I, for one, would have it no other way." 

"Nor would I," he agreed, returning her smile.

* * *

**Author Notes: Well, that's it:) From barely allies to devoted couple, and in only... over 47,000 words. Gah. I'm still LOUSY at writing short fic. **

As alert readers may have noticed, I threw in a lot of traditional cliches... those common plot points that can be so good, and are often so very, VERY bad. That's something I do a _lot_, in my fic... I love playing with them and making them realistic and plausible - or trying to, anyway. Maybe it's an ego thing. Anyway - the 'tending the Wounded Warrior and falling for him even though he's a grumpy cuss' was the major one, obviously, but a Courtroom Scene is always a bonus. I managed to combine the 'use the author's favourite novel as a plot point' with the 'Snape plus romance novels equals neat' one that I've seen around into an edifying whole, I worked in the unpleasant and often extremely irritating 'self-harm is a shortcut to drama' cliche while (I hope) making it cathartic rather than self-destructive. And then 'OMGmarriagebaby!', a traditional favourite, came in for the big finish. 

So far as I remember, the only Traditional Cliche Of Fanfiction And Episodic Television that I encountered while writing and _didn't_ throw in was the 'character winds up in other character's head, hi-jinks and insanity ensue, wheee!' one. I'm saving that for another storyline, where it can get the attention it deserves. ;) Ditto for the apparently exceedingly popular 'Young Severus Meets Hermione While In Roughly The Same Age Bracket', which also gets its own story. 

I'm torn, though, I dunno which one to write first. 


End file.
